The Mind Control Affair
by MLaw
Summary: Thrush has developed a deadly and mysterious new drug and Solo and Kuryakin kick off the investigation to find this lethal substance...  disturbing images, coarse language,mild het. violence and rape. # 2 in the Saga series AU
1. Chapter 1

*This story pre-dates "The Lost and Found Affair", both stories can be read independently but it wouldn't hurt to read both. Again, just borrowing Illya,Napoleon and the MFU for fun, not profit, as they are not owned by me. My stories are often centered around actual places and sometimes events, with my original fictional characters inserted to "play" with the boys...

"The Mind Control Affair"

"Great costume..." muttered Napoleon, with just a tinge of sarcasm in his voice" and just what the heck are you supposed to be?"

His words were directed to his partner who, clothed as usual in his black suit and black turtleneck, had added only one thing to his standard look; a small black mask covering his eyes...the type any child could buy in a five and dime store.

Illya stuck his chin out with pride" I am a cat burglar...is it not obvious?"

"Leave it to you to come up with a costume that cost you under a quarter... cheapskate!" sniped Solo."I thought you liked dressing up in disguises?"

"On an assignment when necessary...this is just a milk run at a masked ball, that we are not really attending. There is no need for anything complicated; as soon as we receive the information, we are out of here my friend," answered the Russian." once we deliver it to headquarters in the morning; we have an early flight to catch to New York!"

Napoleon huffed "party pooper..."

Illya ignored him.

"Actually" Kuryakin smiled ,"my costume cost me nothing as I borrowed from the son of le directeur de l'hotel... young Pierre told me was his Zorro mask, what ever that means...and I promised to return it to him in pristine condition. You Napoleon, however, could have shown a little more restraint in the choice of your attire...really, Napoleon Bonaparte? Even that is a little over the top for you!"

Solo straightened himself, looking rather indignant. "I think I look rather dashing!" he said, tucking his hand into the waistcoat, striking the classic Bonaparte pose."

Illya looked out at the myriad of costumed figures waltzing down below the balcony where they stood." I do not see how we are going to find our contact among all this...frockery."

"Will you stop being so negative" said Napoleon softly.

"How can I not be...we have no idea with whom we are speaking here; everyone is wearing a mask...this was a bad idea" said Illya.

"Well it wasn't mine...the contact set it up."Napoleon leaned on the white marble railing," Just keep your eye out for a woman..."

"The ballroom is filled with women, Napoleon!"

Solo finished his sentence..."a woman dressed as a French maid" ...he eyed his partner," You do know what a French maid is, don't you?"

Solo swore he heard the Russian growl at him.

The two UNCLE agents looked out over the hundreds of people from their vantage point as they moved to the landing at the top of a large sweeping marble staircase. It was New Year's Eve, Paris...

"What a night to be on a low-level courier job" Solo be-moaned "but...ours in not to reason why...c'est la vie" he said.

"There" said Illya" he nodded his head to the left"...I see her."

A petite woman; her red hair pulled up into a bun and wearing very short, black strapless French Maid's costume...the only thing on the woman's arms were little white linen cuffs at her wrists. She was walking towards the staircase and Illya could see her eyes darting about beneath her black lace mask, watching those around her has she moved through the crowd."

Napoleon pulled on the bottom of his waistcoat straightening it. "You wait here...cover me" he said as he walked past his partner"

"Gee, thanks..."mumbled Illya" oh, and try to improve your accent when you speak French this time?"

Solo ignored his partner's jab and strolled down the staircase, letting his right hand run along the cold marble hand rail as he descended to the bottom to where his contact stood waiting.

"Bonsoir Mademosielle," he smiled as he approached her with a slight bow.." it is a bit early for spring cleaning in London." he spoke the code phrase in French"

"Bonsoir Empereur Bonaparte, Ah mais je n'ai miles 'a parcourir avant de dormir_ah but I have miles to go before I sleep, she gave a little courtsy to him as she spoke the coded response.

Solo made note, her French along with her "curves" were impeccable, and he guessed she was a native, probably a section three operative from the Paris office.

"And you are?" he asked, flashing his smile at her.

"Oh pardonnez-moi Monsieur Napoléon. Vous pouvez m'appeler Eleé_ Pardon me Monsieur Napoleon, You may call me Elleé...would you like to take possession?"

"Mmmm most assuredly" he smiled, his libido kicking in "sounds like a delicious idea."

"Jay-sus! I knew this feckin' costume was a mistake! she blurted out, suddenly speaking English with a distinctly Irish accent and vernacular."Just keep yer mind on the job, boy-o!"

Someone drifted by them and she immediately and seamlessly switched back to her flawless French."So would you like to do it here or someplace quieter?" she practically hissed at him.

That statement would have normally meant the possibility of something more pleasurable to him but Solo realized this one had an "attitude" and he dropped his charm instantly. "Here is fine," he grabbed her hand suddenly leading her onto the dance floor to waltz, " so why not take it directly to headquarters yourself?' he whispered, leaning in to her as they danced.

She smelled wonderful...but Napoleon caught himself with a reminder that this one was probably trouble and decided to err on the side of caution and not make another pass at her."

"If I brought it myself, my cover might be blown...there's still more information forthcoming...so what brings UNCLE's best to a simple drop on New Year's Eve in Paris, a little below your league, isn't it?" she asked.

"My partner and I were in the area...luck of the draw I guess" he smiled.

"He is the slick one this "buachaill"_boy" her thoughts drifted in and out of her native language" thinks he's God's gift to a cailín and probably expects me to swoon at his feet..." she wondered where the Russian was, not far away she imagined, as she heard these two were pretty inseparable.

The waltz finally ended and Napoleon stepped back from the agent bowing to her as she offered him her hand.

"Merci Mademosielle," he said bluntly, as she passed a micro camera into his hand...then pulled her hand away as he tried to kiss it.

"De rien...Napoléon" she smiled and moved seductively, teasing the hell out of him for just fun, then disappeared into the myriad of Dukes, Duchesses and Devils swirling around her...thinking he and his accent were atrocious.

Solo palmed the camera into his vest pocket, then walked back up the stairs to his waiting partner.

"So what time is your date?" Illya asked dryly.

"Now why would you assume that?" he asked, as they walked toward the large double doors at the back of the staircase landing.

"You were making your usual moves on her" Illya laughed", it was plain enough."

"That obvious?" shrugged Napoleon, as they passed through the doors and into the cool night air, then walked down another flight of steps to the street; Napoleon handed a ticket to the valet for the car to be brought around.

"So the Solo charm did not work for once?" Illya said, taking a stab at deflating his partner's ego.

" 'fraid not...hope I'm not losing my touch" he answered adjusting his waistcoat again.

"I do not know my friend... shame," Illya clicked his tongue ", she had a REALLY nice body." said Kuryakin, making a rare observation about a woman to his partner.

At first he though Illya was taunting him, then understood his partner was serious.. "yeah, but this one had an attitude nastier than yours, don't think even you would have enjoyed her company," answered Napoleon, trying to rationalize his failure to charm the woman. "And besides, she was a little on the small side...being with her might have felt like it was molesting a child."

Illya ignored the insult as usual, but gave Solo a rather nasty look in return to his last remark about the woman's size. The valet appeared with the black Mercedes and the two agents climbed into it just as the clock struck midnight.

"Happy New Year Napoleon?"

"Happy New Year, tovarisch, if I a glass of champagne; I'd toast to happier times in the year to come..."

Illya drove the car away from the chateau, raising his left hand to his partner... the two bumping their fists together in lieu of the champagne.

"Za Vas_to you, my friend!" he said in Russian, sending the image of the sexy little red head in the maid's costume out his head, for the moment. He found he had been quite taken with her for some reason, which was rare for him...but they would probably not have a chance to meet, so he dismissed the idea.

"To you too and to l'amour," Solo added.

"Napoleon's toast brought the image right back again."

The senior agent's communicator suddenly chirped and he removed it quickly from from his waistcoat pocket. "Solo here" he answered.

"Mr. Solo, you and Mr. Kuryakin are needed in the Paris office immediately...you will be briefed upon arrival." Waverly out.

"The two agents looked at each other"...then sighed.

"Doesn't he ever sleep?" remarked Solo, as his partner turned the Mercedes around, heading toward the center of Paris.

Forty five minutes later, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin sat at the conference table with the head of UNCLE in Paris; Rene Duchamp, so named after his relative who was famed for his activity with the Resistance during the war. "it is most fortuitous that you were here in Paris at this time." Rene said to the two agents."Gentlemen, thank you for coming to help in this matter at such short notice...and of course on New Year's..."

"Oui...fortuite" Solo smiled, as his partner rolled his eyes, hidden behind his tinted reading glasses, and his hand. Neither of them really wanted to be there.

Duchamp flashed photographs of a French chateau on an overhead video monitor, as well as some of the documents passed via camera to them that evening by the UNCLE operative at the the New Year's masked ball. We have been monitoring the activity of this Thrush satrap located in Marseilles and have several agents there undercover...you met one of them this evening when she passed this information onto you." He handed Solo and Kuryakin folders with copies for the briefing.

"These documents outline a proposed test of a new "mind control" drug developed by Thrush...purported to be their most powerful yet. Unfortunately we know only the date the test will occur, we know nothing of the drug itself, the method of delivery, nor the the location of the test. I am afraid we are helpless and must wait until something happens and that something will happen two days from now." said Rene as he shook his head."Mr. Waverly has asked that you remain here until this supposed test takes place, to help with the investigation, after the fact."

"That's a lot of negatives...what about your agent that passed the intel to us?" asked Solo, "She said there was more information forthcoming? Have you been in contact with her again?"

"No...she contacts us. She is actually a section two agent out of the London office working for Harry Beldon, and is deep undercover along with her partner.

"Section two?"Napoleon leaned over to his partner "I thought April was the only woman in section two?"

"Apparently not..." whispered Kuryakin, then he spoke up "It will be something big" looking up from what ever it was he had been writing on his note pad...he adjusted his reading glasses on the bridge of his nose. Thrush likes their demonstrations to be on a grander scale...I have a very bad feeling about this one."

"And there's not a damn thing we can do about it" Napoleon swore tossing his file angrily onto the conference table.

Two days later somewhere in northern France, in a small village outside of Calais, dozens of corpses lay strewn everywhere. Solo and Kuryakin the senior agents on site walked among them wearing protective bio-hazard suits checking the bodies carefully. A cleanup team awaited the results of their preliminary reconnoiter.

Illya knelt, examining a man who was sitting on a bench, his throat had been slit by the bloody butcher knife still in the man's own hand...there was an old woman sitting next to him, with a plastic bag over her head...dead from suffocation. A young boy was hanging dead, dangling from a rope, strung up in a tree that was next to the bench. Such bizarre and gruesome scenes were repeated over and over as the two agents walked throughout the village.

"The all seemed to have died by their own hands" said the Russian..."I have never seen anything like this...the chemical Thrush used must be powerful indeed."

"Very macabre" added Napoleon" these bastards got an entire village of innocents to willingly kill themselves? What the hell sort of chemical could do that?"

Solo realized that Illya had been staring at the bodies of the children more than any of the others, watching as his partner would shake his head in disbelief. Illya was quite disturbed by the children's violent deaths.

"I do not know Napoleon" he paused "they have never hurt children before in all of their schemes..." the Russian observed, with just a tinge of emotion in his usually calm voice.

"Well they're apparently changing their m.o. not caring who they use to test their latest scheme" said Napoleon.

"Yes...Thrush is becoming more bloodthirsty and dangerous" added Kuryakin.

"Any ideas on the method of delivery?' asked Solo as he and his partner began their trek to the perimeter of the village.

"It is hard to say..."said Illya " I doubt it was ingested, there is no way that everyone would take it in at the same time...air born would be difficult to control. It is possible that it was delivered through multiple means... then somehow a command to commit suicide was delivered I suppose."

They had heard a number of radios still playing while they walked through the village, all tuned to the same radio station. Napoleon suddenly realized something..."The command, could it have been issued via the radio?"

"Yes quite possible," said Illya as he made mental note of the station and it's identification. Thinking to have the broadcast program from the last 24 hours checked. "The order could have been embedded subliminally in a special recording...remember what they did with Brahms Lullaby?" *

The two agents reached the the edge of the village, then removed their bio-hazard suits. "In the mean time, soil, water, flora and fauna samples need to be taken for testing...as well as anything they may have been eating..." Napoleon said giving his instructions to the team.

"Those tests, plus autopsy results will hopefully give some clue as to the chemicals used," said Illya " Once the samples and the bodies are removed, the village will have to be destroyed... I recommend by fire. This is going to be a difficult one to cover up..." he added

"I think a large petrol truck explosion in the middle of the night will provide an explanation...if one were to actually explode in the middle of the place...those houses would ignite like tinder in a second," said Napoleon.

"Agreed."

Solo pulled out his communicator "Open Channel D- overseas relay, Waverly"

"Yes Mr. Solo, what have you to report on the situation?"

"Sir, the entire village, men women and children have committed suicide en masse. Our team is going in now to recover the bodies and take samples. We suggest the village be torched...I can plant a story with the local newspapers and media that the village was tragically destroyed in the middle of the night by a petrol tanker explosion...killing all residents."

Approximate number of casualties Mr. Solo?"

"We counted 57 people dead sir. Not as large number that Mr. Kuryakin and I feared, but substantial losses none the less."

"Very well Mr. Solo, proceed with the plan..keep me informed of any further developments. This will be a difficult situation indeed to cover up...do your best." Waverly out.

The news of the terrible disaster near Calais made all the major wire services and the people of France were devastated by the terrible and senseless loss of such innocent lives...the odd thing was, no one could find out who owed the tanker truck.

A day later Solo and Kuryakin located the radio station, but by the time they arrived everything had been destroyed and the staff were also dead by their own hands. So the method of delivery for the command was at least confirmed...but there was no clue as to the content of command, if it were a simple spoken word or a subliminal message hidden behind a particular recording. Illya however, leaned toward the latter method.

A week later...there was still no conclusive test results on delivery method or the chemicals used. Illya sat at the conference table with his partner and Rene, going over the autopsy results on some of the victims.. He flipped a couple of pages checking the results several times.

"Every one of the victims so far is showing a virtually non-existent level of seratonin but conversely, their dopamine levels are off the chart." said Kuryakin.

"And that means in English?" asked Solo.

"Serotonin is a neural transmitter...sometimes called "the happiness hormone" despite not being a hormone... low levels can cause extreme sadness, depression. Dopamine, also a neural transmitter, in high levels can cause psychosis and schizophrenia." he answered.

"So these neural transmitter thingys...drove them crazy enough to commit suicide?" Solo asked.

"Not just crazy Napoleon... I believe they were driven to a feeling of utter despondency...the command that they received to kill themselves was probably a blessing to them to free themselves of their suffering", said the Russian coldly." it was a cruel death for these people.

But this also does not make sense to me...if Thrush is testing this mind control substance ...that makes people kill themselves, what purpose does that really serve? They are bent on world domination, not the elimination it's population. It seems odd that it is so "specific"...would they not want to control people for purposes other than committing suicide?" he paused for just a moment..." I have a feeling that we will see this drug manifest itself in other ways...it is about the taking away choice from the subject...their free will. If they manipulate the levels of serotonin and dopamine to varying levels in combination with other mind altering drugs; they may be able to control their subjects in uncounted ways...And even if we find out what it is they are using...there really can be no antidote against the two neural transmitters since they are natural to the body...this is most perplexing."

" Alors...this may be so Monsieur Kuryakin"said Rene," then we are no better off in what we know than when we started this investigation... we still do not know what the drug is; we only know what may be capable of doing."

They had reached an impasse in the investigation, so after reporting it's status to Alexander Waverly; he recalled Solo and Kuryakin to New York, having need of them to deal with a former acquaintance...Emory Partridge. Leaving the Paris office, with the operatives from London to continue to monitor and handle the situation.

* reference to "Her Master's Voice Affair "


	2. Chapter 2

Elliott McGowan stormed down the corridor leading to the office of Harry Beldon in the London headquarters of UNCLE.

Everyone in the hallway stepped back as she flew past...one of them mumbling under his breath.."the Banshee is in a foul mood today!"

The woman had the reputation of being a hot tempered agent and blunt to the point of rudeness...but some dismissed her as being just a bitchy "red head." Most of her fellow agents looked upon her with disdain, feeling she was a woman in a "man's world" and should not be a section two agent.

April Dancer experienced some of the same prejudices...but it was she who broke the ice, and set the precedent for UNCLE to promote women like Elliott McGowan to the position of field operative. Where as April charmed the men, Elliott was just the opposite and tried to compete with them...and more often than not, she beat them at their own game...which did not make for improved "employee relations."

To complicate matters, Elliott was Irish, assigned to a British office while the "troubles" were on-going in Northern Ireland so she experience a whole different set of prejudices that April Dancer did not. UNCLE was not affiliated with any political ideology and was dedicated to it's own open-minded philosophy, but it's employees were only human, and some of them still carried their beliefs and prejudices from their former lives.

She had learned to handle what was dealt her with a tough, no nonsense attitude. What came her way, only made her stronger...enabling her to function successfully in "this man's" world. She found it prudent to avoid people, and people avoided her, with the exception of Mark Slate, April Dancer and her partner Jean-Paul Simone.

Elliott now charged into Beldon's office throwing a file on his desk, demanding loudly... "What the hell is this shite?"

Beldon was on a video conference with Alexander Waverly "Miss McGowan" Harry snapped."I am in private conference with New York!"

She ignored him, pounding her fist on the file..repeating her question more loudly,"What-is-this-shite?"

Beldon turned calmly to the video screen" "Excuse me Alexander, I'll have to get back to you." He flicked a switch and the screen went dark, then looked down at the file strewn across his desk.

"The Mind Control Affair" report has been finalized. There is nothing more to be said" he told her sharply.

"This is not my report" she seethed" this is total fabrication!"

"The report as filed by Mr. Smythe" Beldon replied calmly" stands. And will not be altered. It is not a debate and opposing sides will not be presented...it was your bungling that caused the operation to fail and as well as the death of your partner. You both ruined a solid four month investigation and now Thrush is on to us and we will have to start all over again thanks to your incompetence!"

"No...NO!" she insisted" this is NOT how it went down. Ye are not pinin' Jean-Paul's death on me! We did nothing wrong that night! The back-up team WAS NOT THERE! Smythe is lying and ye know it!

"No, Miss McGowan, that is not the truth of the matter...your mind has jumbled the facts and Smythe is sure that you may have been exposed to the Thrush substance...combined with your head wound and your on-going mistrust of Owen Smythe; these have all lead you to make false conclusions. YOU and your late partner handled this affair like section three rookies."

"Right now you should consider yourself lucky that you still have a position with this organization. You are however, to be disciplined in the matter...I am hereby rescinding your status as a section two agent...you will be re-classified as a member of in-house security."

Elliot stood with her mouth open."Ye are feckin' jokin'!"

"Miss McGowan, please curb your colorful language" warned Beldon" I will not have you disrespecting my position as head of this office. My decision is final..."

Elliott reached for her Walther, holstered behind her back, removed it and slowly, holding it with two fingers placed it on Beldon's desk.

"Here's my answer to that...Fuck you Beldon and the lot of ye...I quit! Vám parchant_you son of a bitch!" she cursed at him in his native Slovak.

She turned and took off out of Beldon's office before he could say another word, continuing past her office, not stopping...there was nothing there that she wanted, then headed straight past security, and threw down her badge "Tell Beldon, I will detrain when I am damn well ready, so lay off or else!"

With that, she was out of the door and gone from UNCLE...She had never been this angry in her life...or frustrated. Elliott hailed a cabbie, heading home to her third floor flat in the East End of London.

She climbed the stairs pounding her feet, taking out some of her anger on the steps, then entered her tiny apartment after disengaging the alarm system. Then stood there staring. She had few possessions, her books on history, criminology, sociology...some in foreign languages...her fiddle lay in it's case leaning against the corner wall by the sofa. There was nothing personal or feminine about the place, no photos, no artwork...the apartment was dull and devoid of color except for a single hot-pink phelenopsis orchid that sat in it's container on a small table by the sitting room window...it had been a birthday gift from her partner Jean-Paul.

Elliott walked into the small kitchen, taking a bottle of Jameson whiskey from the cabinet and a glass from the counter. She poured herself a shot, downed it, then a second and then a third.

"FFFFeck!" she cursed under her breath.

She woke up the next morning, and as soon as she moved she felt the pain in her head, glancing over at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table and thought for a brief second " a bit of the hair of the dog perhaps?"

"nah!" she said out loud.

The now former section two UNCLE agent...as she realized herself sadly to be, got up and walked across to the bathroom, taking some aspirin tablets from a bottle on a shelf; she dry swallowed them, then turning on the faucet with a squeak, she dowsed her face generously with cold water.

Elliott looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes streaked with the remains of her mascara...she looked tired and there were the beginnings of dark circles under her eyes. She stared at the image letting her thoughts drift back to that night. She leaned forward, supporting herself on the sink, bowing her head as she recalled the events of the affair that she was told went "bad"...costing the life of her partner.

She and her partner, after a lengthy undercover operation, had finally discovered the location of the Thrush lab in Marseilles, where the mind control substance was beginning to be mass produced.

She and Jean-Paul were spear heading a raid to obtain a copy of the formula, destroy the lab and any of the substance that had been manufactured. They were under the gun, as Thrush was getting ready to make it's first shipment of the mind control drug. They planned to to use it to create world chaos, controlling entire populations on a grand scale, inciting violence and panic eventually across the globe. They planned to use it on the world leaders at a conference in Geneva Switzerland...further escalating confrontation between nations...in essence the beginning of World War III. Thrush planned to be there to step in and pick up the pieces...

Elliott and Jean-Paul dressed in black field pants and turtle necks, crept in the darkness along the outer wall of the chateau where the lab was located, their specials drawn and at the ready. Jean had moved by the gate as a single guard walked away past his position. Then he signalled Elliott to join him.

She signalled back, tapping her wristwatch, asking a silent question. He shrugged and waved her to come on.

"Where the hell are they?" she whispered, as she crept up behind him" Smythe was supposed to be her with the backup team forty-five minutes ago?"

"Oui, Je sais_ yes I know" he spoke to her in French. We can't manage this operation without a team."

"I'm going to risk contacting headquarters" she said pulling out her communicator. "Open channel F" she whispered, Duchamp."

"What have you to report answered Rene"

"Shush...excusez-moi if you could please keep your voice down sir..we have a problem...the backup team is M.I.A. and the shipment is nearly loaded."

"Smythe reported to me that the team was in place...you are to proceed as planned...contact him on channel J...out"

"Open channel J "she whispered "...Smythe, where the hell were ye?"

"Smythe here," answered an obviously British voice," we were...delayed, but we are in place now."

"Where are you situated?"

"We are within the wall located at the rear of the chateau approximately twenty yards away from the building."

"Right then.."said Elliott" synchronize your watch for midnight.. in 5-4-3-2-1 mark. At 12:15... half your team will approach the chateau from the rear, send the remainder in front to assist J.P and myself. The lorry is almost loaded and ready to go, so we need to move fast. See you there...be careful, out."

Elliott didn't like Owen Smythe...there was something about the man that she couldn't quite put her finger on, and of the two of them mixed like oil and water. Smythe was Harry Beldon's protegeé, just she had heard that Russian Kuryakin had once been, so she had to mind herself when dealing with him.

Smythe resented the fact that she, a woman was a section two agent and was constantly trying to undermine her. attempting to make her look bad and therefore, she couldn't trust him, but unfortunately she had no choice in the matter of working with him on this assignment as it was Beldon who had added him to the operation, so she was forced to deal with him.

"Mon Dieu" whispered Jean Paul " when was that pompous ass going to let us know he was here?" He knelt down, interlocking his hands together and lifted Elliot up and over the wall with a "hup", seconds later the end of a knotted rope that she had carried with her came back over the wall to him. He caught it, pulling himself up and over the wall to join his partner on the other side.

The two agents ducked behind a hedge until they were sure it was clear, then headed in the darkness across the property until they reached the safely of a cluster of trees directly in the front of the chateau. In a few more seconds it would be 12:15.

The pair moved out their cover exactly on time, moving toward the lorry with silencers on their Walther P-38s.

Suddenly all hell broke loose and they found themselves nearly surrounded by Thrush guards who seemed to appear out of thin air; the pair took cover beside the truck but were pinned down.

The agents continued for a few minuted trading fire with the Thrushmen. "Where the feck is the bloody team?"she screamed...she shot out the tires on the lorry, then put a well-placed bullet in to the radiator."

"J.P...I need a clip!" He tossed one to her then called "Let's get out of here! I'll cover your...GO!"

But then she heard a grunt and saw J.P. go down...he'd been hit!

Elliott scrambled to him screaming his name, trying to drag him up when she felt a sharp pain in the the back of her head...then everything went dark.

She awoke, finding herself alone in a dimly lit cell, she assumed was somewhere beneath the chateau. As she stood, she ran her fingers along the rough stone and mortar wall...then rubbed the back of her pounding head... her hand came away wet with blood from a nasty scalp wound. She then crossed the cell to the bars...there was no guard outside...and only a lit torch on the wall opposite her cell gave her her only light.

She turned looking back across her cell as her eyes adjusted...there was no window and only a small wooden bench against the wall. The only way out was through the cell door. Elliott checked her clothing and found her loc-pick and all other UNCLE accoutrement's were missing. So she returned her attention to the cell door, and running her fingers long the rough metal bars...original, she guessed maybe 17th century; she continued feeling along the bars until she located the hinges, then smiled. They were single ball-pin hinges, and a little leverage could lift them out of place.

Elliott dragged the bench over to the door and turning it over, wedged the end of it through a small gap beneath the door, then she began to push up on the other end of the bench trying to lift the door off it's hinges.

After several attempts there was a groan and the door lifted, popping only one of the hinges, leaving it tilted open just enough for her to crawl through and out of the cell.

She checked in the other cell beside her own looking for J.P. but it was empty; then making her way up a flight of stairs to a landing; she cold see a line of light streaming through a slit in the wall, but there was no sign of a door, or how the wall might open.

Elliott suddenly heard voices coming from the other side, one speaking with authority.

"Get that UNCLE agent ready for transport to control, they'll be very pleased with my find...April Dancer! Elliott smiled..."the amadán_ idiot," she thought.

He continued to brag..."I'll probably get a promotion for this, once she's spilled her guts on some UNCLE secrets!"

"What about her partner" asked another voice.

"The body has been disposed of already" he answered.

Elliott's heart sank, knowing now the fate of Jean-Paul and she bowed her head, fighting back the tears at the loss of her friend and partner.

The voices ceased, then she heard footsteps, listening carefully as one set moved away, the other coming closer to her. As they neared, Elliott pressed herself back against the wall into the shadows, as if she were trying to will herself into invisibility. Suddenly a panel opened letting the light in, and a man walked through and right past her, not seeing her at all.

Elliott stepped out of the shadows launching herself up at the man's back, grabbing his head; she let her momentum help her snap his neck instantly as her body flew past him. She held on and slowed the body as it crumpled down to the floor with a muffled thud, then searched it, seizing the man's hand gun.

She then peered out into the open room carefully...it was a library, empty of any other company, she stepped out, realizing the door was part of the bookcase and she pushed it closed behind her.

She went to one of the window, and looking out from behind the heavy drape, she saw a second lorry parked next to the one she had disabled. She looked at her watch, two hours had passed. And it looked to be almost fully loaded.

There was no time to lose and Elliott knew she had to do this even though she was on her own; she had to find a way to stop that shipment from leaving! The agent headed down a corridor, when she suddenly heard voices coming from a side room...

"Shame we have to dump this place, it was a sweet setup" a new voice now said.

"Yeah," answered another man, boss wasn't too happy that UNCLE got wind of our location."

"Hey not our fault, the boss fucked up on that one, not us"

"Don't let him hear you say that...just get the formula packed up and onto our new location, other wise you're dead meat.

"Hey, not to worry! I got it right here." the man assured.

Upon hearing that, Elliott stepped through the doorway and effortlessly took them down with two quick shots from the pistol. It was silenced, so no one heard a thing. She realized it was the lab and retrieved the file from the dead man's hand. She then spied the UNCLE communicators and the specials and her supply of explosive putty discarded carelessly on a counter. She grabbed it all and headed back to the library, with the file now tucked in the waist of her pants, hidden beneath her turtleneck.

She looked around, spotting three bottles of Cognac, she opened them and tearing pieces from a linen table cloth; she soaked them in the liquor, then stuffed them into the neck of the bottles, making Molotov cocktails. She affixed the explosive putty to the outside of two of them, then grabbed a box of matches she found lying in an ashtray, heading back to the lab where she lit the simple Molotov, tossed it in the room, then closed the door.

Then walking carefully out from the hall and into a grand foyer; a single Thrush guard spotted her instantly and raising his rifle to shoot her...she got off a round first, bringing him down with a single shot to the head. She was out the front door quickly, ducking behind a large column, then lit the Molotov cocktails, lobbing them in the air one after another at the now fully loaded lorry one landing on top of the roof, the other inside...the liquor ignited as it spread, then BOOM, two explosions, shattering the front windows of the chateau and sending flaming debris everywhere.

The woman ducked for cover as she heard shots ring out, then returned fire and hit several of the Thrush guards. Then she heard the distinct muffled sound of an UNCLE special...he head was hurting and she suddenly felt disoriented, wondering what was happening...she stepped out from behind the column with her weapon raised, then felt a sharp pain in her right shoulder, then a stabbing pain to her head.

Elliott McGowan woke in room number 2 bed 1 in the UNCLE medical wing in Paris.

"Hello luv" said a familiar voice.

"Mark" she whispered in acknowledgement.."where's April?"

Knowing that where Mark Slate was, April Dancer wasn't usually far off.

"She's on her way to India..and sends her love" he smiled " be off myself soon. I heard you were here and I thought I'd stop in "

"So what's me prognosis?"

"Shoulder wound. Head wound, but just a graze...you'll live to fight another day" he smiled, then became very serious." look darlin'...sorry about Jean-Paul."

"Ye don't know the half of it Mark...when I get my hands on that bastard Smythe...he'll pay" then she moaned, grabbing her head.

Mark didn't pull any punches " Rumour has it that your and J.P. screwed up ...but I know how you and he operate" he corrected himself," operated. You both bent the rules when it suited you, but you've never screwed up...not like this. Something funny is going on luv, I'd watch yer back if I were you."

Elliott said nothing and Mark said his goodbyes to her then left to join April in India.

Once released from medical, she filed her mission report and was put on light duty, returning to London. As she walked through the corridors heading to her office upon her return, she received open-mouthed stares and dirty looks from agents and staffers alike. She ignored them as usual, but it did strike her as odd, they were being more hostile than usual. Once in her office, she found a file marked "Mind Control Affair" on her desk, and thought it strange it had been placed there...thinking perhaps Beldon wanted her to make an addendum to clarify something in her field report. She thumbed through it scanning the pages...then muttered..."What the feck?" She grabbed the file and stormed down the corridor leading to Harry Beldon's office...

Suddenly a knock at her apartment door startled Elliott out of her thoughts. She drew her .22 backup revolver from her ankle holster and quickly walked from the bathroom to the side of the door.

"Who is it?"she called loudly.

"It's John Sinotti Miss...you know, from the "office" answered a soft British voice.

Elliott looked through the peep hole and verified that it was John, a section three agent.

"I don't work for UNCLE any more John...go away!"

"I have message for you."

"Who from... that git, Harry Beldon?"

"No Miss McGowan...it's a cable from Alexander Waverly" he said.

Elliott opened the door and the agent handed her the sealed envelope, marked "Confidential." "Sorry for being so rude John, thank you." she said to him.

He handed her the envelope, and left without another word, as Elliott closed and secured the door after him then tore open the envelope.

It was a message from Waverly, asking her to come to New York for a meeting, along with a one-way ticket to JFK Airport...it was dated for a flight at 8 o'clock that night departing Heathrow.

She let out a long sigh...wondering what this was about? What to do...? A summons from Alexander Waverly was not a thing to be treated lightly.

She finally let her curiosity win out over her anger with UNCLE and decided to be on that flight.


	3. Chapter 3

Illya Kuryakin rose just after sunrise, as was generally his custom when home and in between assignments; he would go out for early morning runs just to keep himself in shape, the weather determining the distance of his exercise routine.

He walked across to the living room window and opened it and as he did so he could feel the rush of humidity on his skin. He looked at the small thermometer he kept by the window and saw that it was already seventy five degrees at six in the morning. That rising temperature combined with a high dew point would make for a very uncomfortable day in New York city.

"Lihach segodnya_scorcher today," Illya pronounced to himself in his native language... another unusually hot day for the end of May and this Russian did not like the heat.

He readied himself, putting a .22 caliber hand gun into a holster and secured it in the waistband of his running shorts, then pulled a t-shirt over to cover it from sight. His Walther was too cumbersome to carry while running and had switched to his back up weapon instead. He had made the mistake only once years ago, of going out for a jog without a weapon. It was a stupid error in judgement that nearly cost him his life, had it not been for Napoleon coming to his rescue. Lesson learned.

He stretched a bit, loosening up the muscles and tendons of his legs first, then finished limbering his upper body. That done, he exited his apartment after setting the alarm, then ran down the three flights of stairs to the street below, stretched again and then was off.

There were not many people yet on the streets this time of day considering it was a Saturday in New York, surprising since it was called the "city that never sleeps." But the lack of pedestrians made it easier for Kuryakin to keep a watchful eye while running. He would vary his routes every day just as a precaution, as predictability was a dangerous thing in the spy business

As the heat of the day progressed he envisioned the stoops and sidewalks filled with people seeking relief from the heat indoors. Fire hydrants would be opened on the block and children would revel in the water as it gushed out; though the fire department was not always happy about this, as sometimes brought the water levels too low. If there was a major fire; it could create a problem. But on days like this, they turned a blind eye for the sake of the children.

Air conditioners were quite dear and many people could not afford them yet...he had debated about purchasing one, then decided against the expense. Napoleon called him cheap...but he preferred the word frugal."Why spend money on a thing that you may or may not use; depending upon the whim of mother nature?" He would manage without one...

At the moment the temperature was tolerable enough for him as he moved along, feeling his adrenaline surge and the endorphins begin to release...kicking into the "runner's high." But Kuryakin dare not let himself get lost in that feeling... he remained alert, peering around corners, studying people's eyes as they approached him; watching their body language as he passed them. One never knew what lie ahead or behind... he had to be on his guard.

Illya took a long run today down through Central Park, where he found the lush trees made it feel a bit cooler, especially by the lake. He had to be careful and keep himself from over heating.

He finally reached his goal, as he had increased the distance by several miles today and stopped by a water fountain just outside the park on 55th street; he was breathing heavily but even though, he promised himself he would run farther tomorrow, weather permitting of course. If the temperatures went any higher; it could become too dangerous to exercise as he knew even the most fit of people could suffer from heat stroke.

While he let himself cool down for a few minutes he suddenly thought of the weather back home when the snows of the winter would just begin to melt and give way to a cool spring...Mother Russia renewing herself. He suddenly remembered as a child running and playing in the snow with his rosy cheeked brothers and sister, something he had not thought about in a very long time. Snow...the thought of it made the temperature now feel even more uncomfortable to him.

Illya bent over resting his hands on his knees, soaked in perspiration as he took a long drink from the water fountain. That was when he noticed her...a woman across the street standing on the sidewalk. A petite thing, with bright red hair falling down to her waist. She wore a pale green tank top that clung tightly to her and rather revealingly in the heat...she was obviously bra-less and wore a pair of very tight fitting hip-hugger jeans.

"Sexy," he thought as he watched her; he had been attracted to red heads as of late, remembering one in particular in that he still fantasized about. Though so far Illya Kuryakin had not met any woman, blond, brunette or red head that he had really taken a fancy to in a very long time...except for that "French Maid" in Paris. Napoleon was more one for the women than he was and that was not a problem as he felt women tended to complicate his life more often than not.

He knew that he was staring at her, watching her as she pulled her fiery red hair up into a pony tail...then asked himself "What would Napoleon do?" "Go over and talk to her...chat her up," that's what his partner would say." Go get her phone number."

Illya felt hesitant to try and involve himself with another woman...he had a few bad experiences in the past that kept him very...selective in his choice of bed mates. He could live without sex if he had to, where as Napoleon...well that was another story.

"But this one was awfully pretty," he thought. Just as Illya had convinced himself to do cross the street, a cab pulled up and the woman quickly disappeared into it and drove off.

Illya sighed..."oh well" dismissing it." Maybe he would run this way tomorrow in hopes of catching a glimpse of her again. But then the voice of reason in him spoke up saying he would most likely not happen...New York after all, was a big city...so why bother looking tomorrow? He straightened himself up and started to run homewards...feeling a little "hotter" than he had anticipated."

Perhaps he would drag Napoleon out for some breakfast...some place with air conditioning...

Elliott McGowan walked down the block from her hotel. "bloody hot" she thought, wondering if the States were always like this all the time in May. It was her first trip to America and her clothing was not suitable for this type of weather...and needed something comfortable but appropriate to wear for her 1 o'clock meeting with Alexander Waverly. The hotel had recommended a shop called "Gimbels" in Herald Square and she wondered if it were anything like Leicester Square back home in England?

She had no idea why Waverly wanted to see her, especially after her highly charged and emotional departure from Harry Beldon's office and UNCLE. She was surprised when the invitation...no, summons came from Waverly, and so quickly too.

She stood on the hot sidewalk, suddenly finding herself longing for the soft and cool greens of Ireland, as she hadn't been back in a long time and tried remembering the soft misting rains on an afternoon wandering in the Burren in County Clare. She loved it there, filled with the multitudes of tiny colorful flowers growing among the weather worn grey stones and used to sit there in her "aloneness" in the shade of the Poul na mBrón dolmen reading her books, when spending her holidays on the west coast of Ireland.

Elliott sometimes had to remind herself that the dolmen had once been a tomb for some Irish Chieftan or King over five thousand years ago. It's name meant "hole of sorrows" and she wondered what had happened and to whom to give it such a forlorn name. Once it looked like a great hillock, but the passing of time wore away the earth that covered it, to finally leave the great stones exposed, standing tall and immovable. She took comfort sitting in their coolness... the stones were like old friends to her.

She would go up into Galway to practice her Irish in the Gaelic speaking enclave called the Gaeltact. There were still a few left in the country where the language was spoken on an everyday basis; the language having nearly been wiped out by immigration and the effects of "An Gorta Mór_ the great hunger...a famine that nearly destroyed the people of Ireland. But the language hung on surviving, like the people and now it was being spoken more than ever since the times of the hunger...

But the memories of that shady dolmen did not help right now and only seemed to make the heat feel more oppressive to Elliott. She pulled her long hair up and and tied it into a ponytail to give her some relief, and decided she would put it up altogether in a French braid for the meeting.

And so Elliott waited there in the in early morning heat, watching for a cabbie to hail down to take her first to a small restaurant recommended to her for breakfast only a few blocks away; she would have normally walked such a distance, but in this heat, it was just too much. She wondered how people managed with it?

She noticed a man...a blond man, quite nice looking and obviously a runner, standing at a water fountain across the street staring at her; but gave him only a passing thought as the cab pulled up, got in and drove off.

At 12:45 Elliott stepped out of her cab in front of Del Floria's, wearing a tight fitting A-line skirt hemmed just above the knee, a grey silk blouse and black pumps. She had pulled her hair up into the braid, trying to look more professional, rather than wearing her usual attire that was more gypsy like in appearance, with her hair left cascading down to her waist.

She paused at the top of the short flight of stairs leading down to the doorway, just below street level, and wondered what the hell she was doing here? What would she do if Waverly asked her to return to UNCLE? Right now she was still angry...but was it with the organization or was it more with Beldon?

She would just wait and see what Alexander Waverly had up his sleeve and would take it from there she supposed.

She walked down the steps, hesitating for a second as she reached for the door handle to the shop, then turned it, opening the door and stepping through with a sigh. The ringing of a brass bell alerted an older man behind a steam press and he nodded to her. Elliott nodded in return, as she walked to the back and into the dressing room. And after pulling the curtain closed she reached for the clothes hook, taking a deep breath before she turned, it opening the door to UNCLE New York.

She stepped through to security as the door opened without a sound and was greeted promptly.

"Good morning Miss McGowan" smiled a pretty brunette behind the desk. The woman flicked a switch and asked her to put her .22 and her throwing knife in a small bin she had just place on the desk. Then handed Elliot a visitors badge number 42..not the yellow all access badge of an agent and for a moment, it felt strange to her not having that yellow badge to pin on her blouse.

A door behind the desk opened and a tall male agent from security stepped in."This way Miss McGowan, Mr. Waverly is expecting you, this way please ma'am."

She followed the agent down the corridors that were the same sterile grey as in the London and Paris offices, instantly giving her a sense of familiarity. They walked through several more corridors, to an elevator, up through a second security check with another agent, until they finally reached Waverly's office.

The door opened silently as her escort left her to enter by herself, and there she saw Alexander Waverly number one section one...the big man himself sitting alone at a large circular conference table. The room was sterile, functional...not filled with all the atrocious statuary and indulgences that Beldon filled his office with.

Waverly looked up at her from the files he was reading" Miss McGowan, welcome to New York. Please be seated, my dear."

Elliott quietly obliged him, sitting down and folding her hands in front of her on the table.

"I'm sure your are wondering why I asked you here, considering recent events, among them being your abrupt resignation from UNCLE," his voice had a soft British accent. " I have been reviewing the records regarding "The Mind Control Affair" as well as the unfortunate death of you partner, Mr. Simone..."he paused" You apparently disagreed with the final reports sent to Mr. Beldon?"

"Yes Mr. Waverly" she answered truthfully" my version and the version he has accepted differ vastly."

Waverly picked up a document in this hand "The report states that you may have been exposed to the new Thrush substance and it altered your perception as to how your mission unfolded."

"Bollocks" she blurted out, then apologized, knowing the man didn't deserve coarse language" excuse me Mr. Waverly, I know what happened that night sir." I was not exposed to anything, the backup team lead by Owen Smythe never appeared and Jean Paul and I were surrounded...he was killed in the line of duty trying ta complete the mission. At no time did either he or meself act recklessly. We moved in with the understanding that we had a full team ta cover us. After Jean Paul was killed, I did take a bad hit to the head and was captured...but definitely no exposure to the substance. I escaped, got the formula and destroyed the shipment...then I was wounded. At the end, when I blew up the shipment...I am positive that I heard UNCLE weapons fire...

Elliott stopped for a minute, shaking her head..."Sir, what does this all matter...ye have the reports believe what ye want. I know what I KNOW what went down that night is the truth! And there isn't a person alive who is goin' ta convince me other wise! "Elliott was becoming visibly upset at this point.

"The report states that nothing was found on your person..."

"I don't give a flippin'...I don't care what it says...I had that damn formula!"

Elliott stood up. "Enough of this...ye believe what ye want..I'm leaving! I knew this was a mistake comin' here!

"Young Lady!" Waverly raised his voice slightly" I am not saying that I disbelieve you...I do in fact believe what you are telling me. There are some, shall we say...discrepancies in the time-line of events, mysterious gaps in communications logs and so forth that cast some doubts on the validity of the report by Owen Smythe; irregardless of the fact that he is Beldon's top ranking agent and I am well aware that the two of you did not get along!"

"Really?" Elliott smiled "... thank you sir, It's nice ta know someone at UNCLE believes me. However, what point does it matter, since UNCLE and I have parted ways."

"That my dear" smiled Waverly as he lit his pipe,"is exactly what I called you here to discuss. I would like you to reconsider you resignation."

"No thank you sir and be stuck working security?" she answered, standing up " Sorry no..."

"YOUNG lady. will you please sit down" Waverly ordered Elliott in such a tone, that she felt compelled to instantly sit back down at the conference table. Waverly was a man of "presence" and not to be trifled with.

"I would like to re-instate you to section two here in New York with a sufficient pay increase of course...cost of living and so forth."

"But sir" she interrupted" Harry Beldon rescinded my section two clearance."

"The devil with Harry Beldon" dismissed Waverly." You are hereby re-instated and transferred here immediately as of today. Now here is your security badge." Waverly spun the conference table around, stopping it when the badge was in front of her."

"But..."

I will take no "buts"... Miss McGowan. The Mind Control Affair remains an open investigation and you are still lead agent on the case.

Elliott picked up the badge he offered to her...it was inscribed with the number five...she hesitated for a brief moment...then removed the visitor's badge and pinned the yellow agent's badge on her blouse.

"Now get yourself down to the armory and have your weapons issued to you. You can stay in the visitor's quarters until a suitable apartment can be set up for you."

"Yes sir" she answered, rising again from her seat, turning to leave...a bit dazed "oh, sir my things in London...?"

"Are on their ways here as we speak, and will be delivered by special courier tonight."

"Thank ye sir.." she smiled, then left the office realizing that Waverly was a cunning old fox and a master manipulator. He had this all planned from the beginning." How the hell did he know she'd say yes...or did he?" Elliott McGowan was amazed at the sudden turn of events in her life and an old Irish saying came to mind...

"Is iomaí cor an tsaol...There is many a twist in life."


	4. Chapter 4

Napoleon Solo sat in his office that he shared with his friend and partner Illya Kuryakin; the pair had just finished up a grueling assignment and were desk bound again until the next one appeared.

Solo hated these breaks between missions, he was a man of action and wanted to be in the field, but these lapses were unavoidable and the two of them made good use of the down time, catching up on reports and updating their files. Solo being CEA was also required to review the memos listing the names of any agents promoted to section two. At the moment he was scanning that list and searching for the name of a female that he had heard was now a section two in New York, but could find no woman's name at all. Maybe he was mistaken in what he heard...thinking she would be the third woman, if she did in deed exist, added to the UNCLE rosters that included April Dancer and that agent in Paris...he couldn't remember if he ever heard her name?

"Did you hear anything about a female section two being assigned?" he asked his partner, who as usual had his nose buried in a scientific journal.

lllya always managed to finish his paperwork before Solo, but that was no big deal, Illya was an efficient little guy... Napoleon had to remind himself not to say that around him, as Illya was a bit sensitive about his height. But his partner's willingness to lend a hand with his paperwork was always appreciated. Napoleon took advantage of Illya's generosity...maybe sometimes too often, but then "hey that's what friends are for... a little help now and then?"

Illya answered him without looking up from his reading "Yes, I heard that as well...but Waverly apparently is keeping her under wraps for some reason."

"And you know this how...when I don't?" Napoleon asked.

"Oh just rumors" said Illya. surpressing a smile.

Napoleon wondered how the Russian always seemed to have these little tidbits of information...some of which he really shouldn't know, but always seemed to? But then again, that's what made him a good partner, keeping Solo well informed when he needed to be. That's one thing that he liked about Illya; his attention to detail. Sometimes Solo could be more of a "fly by the seat of your pants kind of guy" and the stubborn Russian helped keep him grounded...sometimes." But there were plenty of times Illya got things wrong, and Napoleon stepped in to pick him up when when he stumbled along the way as well.

The two would take jabs at each other, often teasing and wise-cracking...they even got into a fistfight once. To some that might be misconstrued as a problem with the partnership, but Solo knew it was their way of dealing with the stress and sometime the pressure of being out in the field where one's life was at risk.

Again, they had that ying and yang thing going...what one lacked the other made up for. He wouldn't trade Illya as a partner or friend for all the money in the world...Illya had called him "brat_brother" in Russian on a number of occasions, and Solo was flattered for his partner to think that of him. He supposed he felt that way about Illya as well.

"Well, how can we find out about this woman..." Napoleon said, it's not like we can just go ask Waverly outright about her, if he's keeping her a secret for some reason?"

"Napoleon," replied the Russian dryly " if you really want to find out about the woman that badly; I am sure you will find a way. Please do not include me in the collective "we"; as I am not really interested. I am sure you will eventually meet her...if she exists."

"Illya..I was just curious, that's all!" Napoleon retorted at his partner's dismissal " I tell you what...it's a little boring around here right now... let's have a little fun and see who can scout her out first...just a little friendly competition." he smiled.

"Why should I ?" said Illya " nine times out of ten, you win. And besides what is in it for me...you are the one who likes the ladies more, better you should just track her down by yourself."

"Well how about I make it more interesting for you...whomever gets to chat her up first gets dinner at the 21 Club.."

"And this would benefit me how? As I said, you always win nine times out of ten..."

"Yeah you're right...well then how about the winner buys the dinner as the consolation prize and the winner gets the..."

Illya laughed. "You really are bored my friend to make such an offer...fine I will take you up on that, as I have not been to the 21 Club in a long time!"

"Deal!" smiled Solo holding his hand out to his partner, and the two agents shook on it.

Illya stood up heading out of the office with a file in his hand" Oh, by the way, Napoleon" he smiled" her name is Elliott McGowan." Then he quickly disappeared out the door.

Napoleon looked down at the roster and saw the very first name on it was indeed Elliott McGowan " you tricky Russian," he laughed" for once Illya had the jump on him.

But that was soon to be remedied. Napoleon flipped the intercom switch on his desk and the secretary answered. " Hi Julie, can you tell me if there is an Elliott McGowan in the building, please?"

"Sure Napoleon, just a sec... She is down in the firing range taking care of her certification."

"Elliottt McGowan is definitely a "she?" he asked, just in case Illya was trying to throw him a curve.

"Yep Napoleon she's a "she" laughed Julie.

"Thank you," he smiled, then flicked the switch and headed off to meet the new agent. " Let the games begin..."

Illya continued walking down the corridor thumbing through the dossier of Elliott McGowan. When he looked at her photograph and realized much to his surprise, that she and the red head he had seen outside Central Park a week ago were one and the same and he thought the fates had smiled upon him.

But then he remembered the bet he had just made with Napoleon and knew he did not stand a chance as his partner almost always "got the girl." He did not have the charm and social skills that his partner did.

The bet had not started out in his mind as actually competing with Solo and he just took it on to humor him and let Napoleon have his fun. But now it could actually turn into a competition if he really tried to beat Napoleon at his own game?" Illya smiled thinking he just might give it a try...as the red head had really piqued his interest.

He skimmed through the rest of her file...a former member of Interpol recruited to UNCLE three years ago. Graduated University of Dublin with a masters in linguistics, received her Doctorate at Oxford in criminology, criminal psychology with a specialization in criminal profiling.

Fluent in multiple languages...he smiled as her list included Russian.

Black belts in martial arts, high scores in marksmanship and a certified sniper. Graduated second in her class at Survival School.

"Impressive" he smiled " intelligent, athletic...and good looking too." Illya had not even met her and he was already liking her a lot!

He looked at the last few of her assignments and saw that she had been undercover in Paris... when he suddenly realized with a shock that this was the woman in the French Maid's costume that night. He laughed, knowing that Napoleon was going to be in for a bit of a surprise, for she was the same one he said had a nasty attitude. "Perhaps" he thought " this bet was going to be a bit of fun after all?"

Napoleon took the elevator down to the sub-basement where the shooting range was located; there he found a diminutive red head standing in the middle carousel and he watched as she had just landed a shot to the neck of the paper target, at fifty yards.

Elliott caught Solo's approach from the corner of her eye and recognized him instantly from that night in Paris, but gave no reaction as he walked up beside her in the carousel. She removed her head phones, and a voice came over the P.A.

"O.K. Miss McGowan you're all set. You passed certification with no problem.

She turned back to the man in the booth above and waved her acknowledgement to him.

"That last one was a little low," Napoleon smiled warmly." the P-38 can pull a little low and to the right sometimes."

"Really?" she smiled then answered, disguising her voice " I wouldn't know that...this is a new piece, just trying to get a feel for it..ya know" she clicked her tongue " like getting used to a new...lover, if ya get my drift." Elliott was being rotten and she knew it...but felt Solo deserved to be taunted, given his reputation with the ladies.

He spoke softly to her."Well, if you compensate by turning...may I?' he flashed his smile at her again, thinking he just might be able to get a date with her after her flirtatious comment.

He reached his arm around her holding her hand with the weapon in his. Then positioned her back against his chest.

"Now if you just do this..." he said,turning her hand with the P-38 just slightly...putting gentle pressure on the trigger, letting off one round and hitting the target squarely in the head.

'I see..." she said slowly, wriggling free of him, at the same time she found herself suddenly tingling at his touch.

There was something oddly familiar about this woman? Napoleon thought to himself.

"So that means I can do this? Elliott aimed at the target, quickly letting go five shots in succession.

She hit the retrieval button for the target, and when it arrived, she took it down, handing it to Napoleon to look at.

He examined the target," Nice placement...but looks like you missed one?" He pointed to the four holes in the target made around his original shot, handing the target back to her. She had fired five times...

She handed it back to him using her normal voice "Look again boy-o?" she smiled.

"You!" he blurted out...from Paris?

"Yes...and do ye always stalk the new women around here?"

"Excuse me? I was just being a little friendly. You were the one who gave me the come on this time!" he protested.

"And why would I be interested in a man who thinks he's God's gift to women?"

Napoleon was getting a little annoyed now.."Look, you don' even know me..."

"Ah sure, but I know yer type..." she sniped." I'm not one of those weak-kneed females that I hear you like to dally with...I am very capable, and I am dangerous...VERY dangerous,"

"O.K. take it easy" he said raising his hands in surrender" Are you this hostile to everyone or do you just hate men?"

"No...just your kind..."

Napoleon sighed..." I won't deny it, I love women, there's nothing wrong with that and I think they enjoy my company too, at least that's what they tell me? But I also know when to be a gentleman and back off, when my attentions are not wanted. I have never forced myself on a woman and never would. I am not the lecherous "type" that you think I am."

" Now...you do realize that you just told off your new boss...I am CEA here you know?" he smiled back at her.

"Yes, and so what of it?" she said nervously, not wishing to show weakness, then back peddled, realizing the man was being genuine with her" I apologize, I've been rude to ye." she said, " It's just that I'm so tired of men hitting on me all the time and not being shown respect for what I am... an UNCLE agent, and not just a woman. It wears thin after a while..."

"Point taken Miss McGowan...and rest assured you will have my respect both as a woman and as one of my agents, but just remember...I am dangerous too..." he winked at her.

Elliott let out a little laugh.

"That's better" Napoleon smiled at her "I think we got off to a bad start...can we give this another try?" he said extending his hand to her. " My name is Napoleon Solo, welcome to UNCLE's New York headquarters Miss McGowan."

Elliott blushed, then accepted Napoleon's hand.

"Pax?" he smiled.

"Pax" she answered.

Napoleon left her and headed to the elevator, still holding the target in his and once inside he looked at it, examining it more closely, noticing now that the hole of his original shot to the center of the head was larger than the other four..."well I stand corrected." he said out loud. He smiled thinking that Illya was going to be in for a surprise with this one...and decided not to tell his partner of his encounter with Elliott McGowan. Illya could win this bet for once...let him suffer her wrath and get it over with. Then they could all get down to business doing their jobs. He decided though, to give his partner the consolation anyway. The two of them would hit the 21 Club...Solo's treat.

The next day llya Kuryakin had checked the sign in log for all agent's in the building, and found Elliott McGowan's name scheduled for a martial arts demonstration with the new section three agents in the gymnasium.

He had not seen Napoleon today and assumed that his partner had not "chatted" the woman up yet, other wise he would have heard about it. Illya headed down to the gym, changing into a black t-shirt and black sweatpants, then walked in on the class that was already in progress.

In the center of the large blue padded mat stood the petite red head, with her hair up in a pony tail, just as he had seen her outside the park. She was wearing a white tank top and navy sweat pants, with protective padding on her head, hands and feet.

A group of a dozen and a half or so section three agents sat cross-legged on the floor beside the mat, and Illya joined them; settling in on the gym floor at the back of the group.

"Think of it as a dance with your opponent" she said, showing just a hint of an Irish accent. Mirror his moves, study his body language...watch his eyes... maintain a safe distance until you are ready to strike. Use both momentum and leverage...work them to you your advantage as you will not always be evenly matched against an opponent."

She waved one of the larger male agents to the mat standing just over 6' to her 5' 3" and after donning his protective gear, she instructed him to "assume the position."

"Ma'am" replied the agent in a southern drawl", where I come from we don't hit a lady?"

"Forget I'm a woman...I am an enemy agent, hell bent on killing ye! Now come and get me! Or are ye nothing but a big coward?" she taunted him." Come on ye big wimp or are ye a little Nancy boy?"

Something she said must have struck home and motivated the agent to charge straight at her.

She side-stepped him effortlessly, moving away to maintain her distance then turned almost cat-like as she and the big agent circled each other, waiting, watching...studying. He charged at her again, this time she leapt up, delivering a karate chop to his shoulder, causing him to stagger. He stopped and turned as he straightened himself.

Elliott suddenly ran at him leaping up in the air quite high for such a small woman, getting the man in a scissor hold with her legs and using her momentum as she twisted in the air; she flipped him over and onto the ground, then instantly dropped down beside him and delivered a controlled blow to the agent's larynx; stopping before she made contact.

She then stood up offering her hand to the agent, assisting him to his feet. "Fair play to ye" she said.

"Now" she continued,"ye will not always find yerself dealing with just a single opponent. She then chose five agents of varying size and weight to join her on the matte, once their gear was on, she assumed a defensive position and told them to begin.

The five surrounded her, circling her as she danced in place, bouncing on the balls of her feet, in a state of constant motion, keeping her eyes on them as they prepared to attack. Suddenly one charged and she immediately sent out her leg in a straight kick to his midsection...the force of it and again his momentum increased the effectiveness of her move and he went down.

A second agent came at her, she side stepped him, grabbing his arm and judo-flipped him onto the matt, knocking the wind out of him.

Then two approached at her from opposite sides and as they came within her striking distance, Elliott leapt straight up into the air and with perfect timing did a split kick hitting each man in the head sending them backwards and down to the padded mat.

Finally the last man standing, she figured him to be the clever one, having stayed back watching and letting the others have a go at her. He moved toward her cautiously, but instead of waiting for his attack, Elliott became the aggressor, driving forward with a series of punches and kicks to the man's solar plexis as he tried to block her but then making contact; he doubled him over but did not go down. She dove forward onto her hands, kicking her legs up and around his neck and as she did so; she pulled him forward over her and onto the mat.

The entire demonstration took under eight minutes to complete.

"Thank ye gentlemen" she said as the the five agents hobbled back to their seats on the floor. "Now," catching her breath" perhaps one last volunteer...perhaps the best of you...this will be full contact and not for the faint of heart so to speak. No demo...full spar" she smiled."anyone?

Come on, surely there's one of ye who's better than the rest.?"

All eyes went suddenly to Kuryakin...and Illya feeling pressured stood up. Elliott cocked her head, recognizing him instantly as the runner she'd seen on the first day she had arrived in New York for the meeting with Alexander Waverly.

Illya quietly stepped onto to the mat, puttting on the gear then facing Elliott, he bowed to her as she did to him. And then they both assumed their fighting stances.

"This is going to be good" whispered one of the section threes " I heard her nickname was the Banshee...the harbinger of death. "So it's the Ice Prince vs. The Banshee!"

"I'll lay money on the Russian," whispered one,"you're on!" whispered another" I think she can take him."

Illya and Elliott circled, doing the dance as she had called it; sizing each other up. Kuryakin, having seen some of her moves felt he had an unfair advantage...but would still give her a good bout none the less.

Then he suddenly exploded, throwing a series of kicks and punches at her that she quickly blocked and dodged successfully.

"Jay-sus! This one's fast! " she thought as she backed away from him, adjusting her distance.

Illya moved in again feinting, then moved out, trying to throw off her rhythm and keep her off balance.

After a few minutes of this, Elliott realized the blond was toying with her, so she decided to change the steps of the dance. She moved in towards him, closing the distance, then exploded violently upwards into a flying roundhouse kick, making contact with his shoulder and sending him staggering backwards. Illya caught his balance, stepping forward he dropped down instantly with a sweeping kick, to her legs, knocking Elliott off her feet. As she was falling backwards, she arched her back and landing on her hands, she flipped over and up instantly landing on her feet, facing him in a defensive stance.

She nodded to him and they both stopped, bowing to each other; abruptly ending the match, much to the disappointment of the other agents.

"That's enough for today!" she announced, catching her breath."thank ye and dismissed."

Illya grabbed a towel and waited nearby, until all the other agents had gone, then walked over to Elliott.

"I enjoyed that immensely, you are very skilled. Would you care to go another round...this time without this nonsense." he said pulling off the protective gear.

"Yer on! "she grinned.

The went onto the mat together, now alone in the gym for another twenty minutes or so going back and forth throwing kicks and punches, knocking each other down several times until Illya flipped her and ended up sitting on top of her, leaning in on his hands very closed to her face. For an instant their eyes met, and then she suddenly rolled him over and now she was on top.

Illya raised his hands laughing "enough! I surrender!" he smiled at her.

Elliott stood up then offered her hand, helping him up from the floor. He held onto her hand for a second", then said" I do not believe we have been properly introduced " My name is Illya Nickovich Kuryakin." he smiled at her.

"Sweet Jay-sus!" she thought to herself "the other half of the pair! Well at least this one didn't make a pass at me?"

"Happy to make yer acquaintance" she smiled right back at him," I'm Elliott Tatayana McGowan."


	5. Chapter 5

The "epic" match was all the talk of the commissary later that afternoon.

"Wow! You should have seen it! "one of the junior agents told some of the secretaries sitting with him along with a several of the other section threes at their lunch table. "The Ice Prince and the Banshee...it was amazing!"

"Banshee?" what and who is that?

"It's from Irish Legend...the Banshee is a fairy woman who'd appear combing her hair sitting on a wall, her presence was a prediction of death.

" Oh there's a nice image, so who is this Banshee?" she asked.

""That's what I heard was the new agent's nickname when she was stationed in the U.K...she's Irish, I don't think they liked her there.?"

"Who won?" asked one of the male agents.

"I'd call it a draw"

"It ended too soon to call" said another.

"She could have taken him..."

"It would have been Kuryakin for sure. He's deadly ...I've heard he's killed people with his bare hands" one whispered.

"Well if looks could kill" came the response from one of the secretaries" then they're both deadly!"

That made the table break out in a fit of laughter.

"I wasn't trying to be funny" she said"I mean Mr. Kuryakin...he's a nice looking man and all, but a girl tries to get his attention and he looks right through you...like you're not even there. And he can be pretty rude sometimes too, snapping his fingers at you. Now her... the new one, she has an attitude too, walking around with a chip on her shoulder...she could be nicer...that's all I'm saying. Sometimes these section two agents are a bit full of themselves..."

"He makes me uncomfortable," another secretary whispered" I mean after all he's a...Communist."

"Yeah,"replied one of the agents" I imagine UNCLE keeps an eye on that Commie...never know when he could get his Russkie orders to turn on us..."

"Well I think it's awful that he would hit a woman like that" said another of the girls.

Napoleon was sitting quietly at the next table reading his newspaper, drinking a cup of coffee and listening in on the conversation...not that he was eavesdropping, well actually, he was because that was part of the job. They were so busy chatting that they didn't notice him hidden behind the paper.

It was good to keep abreast of the of the latest gossip on the rumor mills. Sometimes there was truths to be heard an it was a good idea to know about such things as who was sleeping with whom, discord between agents, infighting and so forth. Sometimes when things get too personal, problems can develop. These people may be in the spy business, but they were only human and not above bickering, so a heads up for him might help defuse a problem before it could escalate.

He smiled at a few of the remarks, then there were some that he didn't like hearing at all...a few prejudicial remarks about his partner did not sit right with him. People were entitled to an opinion but he'd keep an eye on the one making the "commie" remarks...that fellow, Solo thought, just might not be UNCLE material after all.

Illya walked into the commissary collecting his lunch tray and joining his partner at the table, he noticed as he sat down that the table next to them cleared abruptly. And they looked to be hurrying away from him, he then jokingly remarked..."What? I showered today?"

Solo laughed at Illya's attempt at humor, then cut right to the chase.

"So what's this I hear about some epic martial arts match between you and Miss McGowan?"

Illya's face turned red..."Oh now I understand why they all got up and left..the gossip mongers are at it again." he mumbled to Napoleon.

"I heard she pretty well kicked your butt," Napoleon whispered with a smile.

" She did not kick my butt... it was my shoulder actually" He reached up rotating his left shoulder and rubbing it. "quite hard as a matter of fact...Napoleon, she is amazing! I have never met a woman with such abilities and spirit. I think she is going to be an excellent addition here."

Illya was quite animated about her, and Solo had never seen his partner this excited when it came to talking about a woman.

"And you are not going to believe who she is Napoleon...she is the red head in the French Maid costume...remember New Years, Paris... the one you said had a nasty attitude?"

"Oh really?" Napoleon smiled feigning ignorance, " So, I'm guessing that there was some sort of altercation between you two that caused you to to end up in this epic martial arts battle?"

Illya looked confused. "No, there was no altercation, it was part of a class she was demonstrating in the gym...I ended up being a volunteer."

"You volunteered...that was rather convenient" he tried not to smile.

"Well actually I did not...the section three's sort of pushed me into doing it when none of them wished to volunteer."

"Oh," Napoleon was fishing now " so you had no problems with her at all?"

"None, she seemed nice enough" Illya smiled." though I must admit she is a very tough woman"

Napoleon suddenly passed the thought..."maybe he had lost his touch.?"

"As I recall you fancied that red head in the maid's costume...so this is how you get a woman to pay attention to you...by trying to beat the heck out of her?"

Illya shrugged...not quite understanding that remark.

"Boy...you and I need to have a serious talk about women one of these days." said Napoleon.

Illya laughed nervously at that, then ate a large forkful of pie."mmm this is very good Napoleon...peach cobbler, you should try it," he added, in an attempt to change the subject.

"I have an interesting bit of news about our newest agent " Solo now whispered," I did some investigating...apparently she had it out with your buddy Harry Beldon; he blamed for the the death of her partner and the fouling up her last mission...remember that mind control substance that we investigated near Calais? Apparently she claims to have gotten the formula, destroyed a shipment and the lab, but the field report filed states completely to the contrary. Beldon demotes her as punishment, she quits and poof...she is now a section two agent here. So you weren't kidding when you said Waverly was keeping her under wraps. Obviously there's something rotten in Denmark...or Britain anyway*?"

Illya finished the last of his pie. "This explains much. So it would be safe to assume that Waverly is giving credence to her version of the story, otherwise why would he countermand Beldon?"

"My thoughts exactly tovarisch..." Napoleon got up to try a slice of the peach cobbler.

The next day the two senior field agents were summoned for briefing in Waverly's office.

"Gentlemen...please be seated." Waverly spun the conference table around sending two folders over to the men.

"As you may recall, after your investigation of the drug induced mass suicides outside of Calais earlier this year...our London and Paris offices have been in search of the new Thrush facilities for the manufacture and distribution of their Mind Control substance, since their operation in Marseilles was shut down and abandoned. There was an unsuccessful raid on that Marseilles location, the lab destroyed as well as all the samples of the drug. But the formula was never recovered. A section two agent named Jean Paul Simone unfortunately lost his life during the raid. There is nothing definitive on the new location as of yet."

"However, gentlemen, it has come to my attention after reviewing incidents in Marseilles that we may have a traitor in our midst, specifically in the London office. That does not go beyond this room, nor will it be conveyed to the London office. I suspect that this traitor may have been a direct link to the debacle in Marseilles."

"As soon as Thrush's new laboratory location has been determined we will decide our best course of action to retrieve the formula, destroy any product and of course the lab, as well as flush out the traitor in London."

"I have had the remaining section two agent directly involved in the Marseilles raid brougnt here from London...which is also not to leave this room. Harry Beldon is not aware, nor will he be made aware of this fact, nor the possibility of a traitor.

"Do you suspect Harry?" asked Kuryakin.

"Not at this time." answered Waverly

"Have either of you met Elliott McGowan yet?" Both Solo and Kuryakin knew the Old Man already aware they had as he didn't miss much in the goings on in headquarters.

"Yes sir" they both replied.

"Good, good...very good then" said Waverly. " Miss McGowan will be involved in this operation and will be considered lead agent. Mr. Solo I know you are not accustomed to playing second fiddle... but she is to be given the utmost cooperation in this matter. She is thoroughly familiar with this affair and neither of you should underestimate her abilities because she is a woman. You will all be working closely together on this mission when the time comes so I suggest you meet with her...and please make her feel welcome? I do not want to hear about any more "altercations" if you get my meaning?"

Both Napoleon and Illya could feel themselves slumping just a little bit lower into their chairs...knowing that Waverly somehow was aware of both their encounters with Elliott McGowan.

"That will be all for now, dismissed" Waverly waved them off with his hand, then filled his his pipe with his favorite "Old Dog # 22, just as the agents left. Leaving Kuryakin thankful he had waited for them to get up and leave, as the smell of the tobacco gave him headaches.

"Well...you heard the boss...welcome her" smiled Solo" and you know what buddy boy, she's all yours."

"I did not realize she was yours to give" said Kuryakin

"It was just a figure of speech...but seriously, if you're interested in the woman, go for it my friend. She and I got off to a rocky start but that's all straightened out. But I will give you some advice my...she doesn't like men who "hit"on her." said Napoleon.

"So I should not have had the sparring match with her" asked Illya somewhat confused.

"Not "hit" her Illya..."hit" on her...you know, making a pass on a woman?"

"Oh, I understand now...thank you Napoleon. I will bear that in mind."

"So are you going to try to ask her out?"

"No..."

"What do you mean...no?"

"I do not plan on asking her out..." answered the Russian, hesitating...I have decided that it would not be a wise thing to do...after all we will be working together on assignment; I think that would complicate matters.

Illya was remembering of the last time he had let himself become involved with another Soviet agent, Katiya Revchenkov; that of course ended in disaster. Lucked smiled upon him there as he did not end up in some gulag prison because of his foolishness with a woman.

"Illya...sometimes I just don't understand you at all." said Solo, as he shook his head at his partner.

"Something is wrong with my English?" asked Illya; knowingly that he was joking with his partner.

"Never mind..." Napoleon sighed.

"By the way" said Illya, not forgetting their bet" I understand you chatted her up at the firing range, before my meeting her in the gym...so I believe you owe me a dinner at the 21 Club."

Solo raised his eyebrows..."fair is fair, how 'bout tomorrow night then?" He had already planned to take the Russian there irregardless of the outcome of the bet.

Solo and his partner parted ways at that point as it was late in the evening and Napoleon had a date arranged with Dolores from communications; he owed her an evening of dinner and dancing for getting the low-down on McGowan for him. Good to have someone who'll "listen in" for him sometimes...he smiled as he realized he had turned Dolores into an "asset" with only a promise of a date. He hadn't lost his touch after all.

Illya on the other hand was staying late and headed down to his lab to continue his work with several non-company related experiments he was conducting, UNCLE allowed him this small indulgence, as long as it did not interfere with any assignments. He had been working for a while when his stomach finally sounded the alarm, demanding to be fed. He looked at his watch, it was past 10 o'clock and he had worked far later that he had originally planned going right passed his dinner time. He decided to call it a night, heading first to the commissary for bite to eat and then home to bed.

The commissary would not have full service this time of night, but he hoped to get something decent. It was a 50/50 chance with the food there being palatable or not. He walked into the nearly empty commissary got himself a bowl of chicken soup from kettle shaped soup warmer, then heading with his tray to a table; he spotted the new agent sitting alone at a corner table, reading a book.

He walked over to her. "May I join you?"

"Suit yerself" she said not looking up from what held her interest.

Illya sat down quietly at the table, not saying another word and began to eat his meal. Elliott, aware of his silence finally looked up from her book and spoke to him.

"Tell me, I'd like to know something? Do you and Mr. Solo generally make a habit of stalking people who are new here, or am I a special case?"

"Stalking?" he repeated after swallowing a mouthful of soup.

"Yes...tracking a person down...finding out things about them...NOSING about their personnel files?"

Illya realized what she was alluding to..." I was just curious about your back ground..."

"And I suppose showing up at my demonstration in the gymnasium was just being curious as well?" she asked with a sharpness in her voice.

"Yes." He decided to keep his answers short, sensing some hostility.

"And why would you feel that being curious about someone...is the equivalent of "stalking" them?" he then asked calmly as he finished off the last of his meal.

"Well let's say my visit from Napoleon down in the firing range, you showing up at my class and looking into my dossier and now popping up at my table here after ten at night...well I think ye get why I'm having these feelings... although I do have to say that Mr. Solo and I did get off on the wrong foot and I have since sorted things out with him. He and I... we're on the same page now..." she said.

"I am not stalking you Miss McGowan" the Russian answered bluntly"

I merely came here tonight to get something to eat before going home as I had worked late in my lab and had missed dinner, so nothing sinister or pre-meditative there...and I was unaware that you had already met Napoleon." Illya now realized that his partner had neglected to tell him that fact.

"Oh..." she said, giving him a sharp look with her blue-grey eyes" well Mr. Solo's reputation preceded him...until that was clarified...so you, what are you on about then if ye are not stalking me?"

Illya laughed at her comment about Napoleon."I assure you, Napoleon is an honorable man, as am I, Miss McGowan." he smiled shyly at her.

"Call me Elliott." she said.

"Alright Elliott, as long as you call me Illya then?" he added.

"If you would indulge me...I am a curious man by nature though sometimes my curiosity has gotten the better of me and caused me to become the "proverbial bull in a china shop"...I am somewhat lacking in social skills and my inquisitiveness has been sometimes misconstrued as something else...in this case, you called it stalking."

"Alright...fair play," she said" that's a reasonable enough answer.

"So may you and I be sorted out then?" he smiled at her again..."perhaps you would also indulge me again with one small favor? He hesitated bringing up her dossier, " I noticed in your file that you speak Russian and you said that day in the gym when introducing yourself that you had the middle name of Tatayana that is a Russian name, though not following the traditional patronymic form.

"She smiled briefly then answered him in Russian" Moy mat' byla Rossiya, iz Novgorada. Vo vremya voyiny ona byla zaklyochennog_my mother was Russian, from Novgorod. During the war she was a prisoner in a camp in Germany. My father was a member of the British forces that helped liberate the camp...my parents met and the rest shall we say is history.

"Vash Rossiya otlichno_your Russian is excellent." he complimented her. "I would be a pleasure to speak in my language with you if you do not mind...I have rare occasion to use it here...there are a few people in communications who speak it, but not as well as you and they are far less interesting I am afraid.

"Vy mne l'stite Il'ya_ you flatter me Illya." she smiled.

"Please do not be offended," he continued speaking in Russian" but I read in your file that you were recruited from INTERPOL?" I found that interesting for a woman to have a background as extensive as yours in criminology...I do not infer that a woman could not, just that it is a rather uncommon choice."

"No, I'm not offended anymore that ye read my dossier...and to answer yer question; I got into that line of work because of my father. After the war, he became a garda_a policeman, eventually working for INTERPOL himself. My da' groomed me to follow in his footsteps I suppose.

"When I was born, he was hoping for a son...but got me. He was determined to name his first born after his hero...the American Federal Agent...Elliott Ness; he decided ta keep the name anyway in spite of me bein' a girl, Tatayana was my mother's contribution. Havin' a man's name got me through the door a lot of times...as ye are well aware that it's a man's world and a woman in that line of work is not readily accepted.

"What made you come to UNCLE?" he then asked.

"I was looking for something a little more exciting...and I suppose UNCLE's philosophies appealed to me."

"And how did ye, a Russian end up here in New York with this agency, given the frigid relations between the Soviet Union and the United States?"

Illya smiled."It is a long story for another time perhaps, but suffice to say, I had very limited options in coming to work for UNCLE. " he answered honestly.

"So ye worked with that bastard Harry Beldon, as I understand it" she then asked, then added" no offence if he's a friend of yours."

"Yes, I was stationed in London for several years...and your description of Harry Beldon is appropriate. I was glad for my transfer here, as I found that I was being used by Harry to suit his own agenda. He is a most ambitious man and a master manipulator. He has surrounded himself with the trappings of decadence and he hungers for more of it. I do not think he will be able to satisfy that hunger and continue working for UNCLE."

"Are ye aware of my situation then regarding my coming to New York?"

"Yes I am, and I understand how you feel about what happened to you. I have been set-up myself and know what it is like." he whispered quietly.

"So, now fair is fair...ye read my file but I haven't nosed into yours and I told you a bit about meself...so what's your tale Illya?" she asked, resting her chin on her hand.

Illya hesitated...as he was not prone to discussing his personal life or his background. He obviously liked the woman a lot, even though he had decided not to pursue her. But he found himself feeling increasingly comfortable as they spoke.

" There is not much to speak of; I am from Kyiv..,of Russian parentage. My entire family was killed by the Nazis..." he surprised himself at saying that " As I was an orphan;I was raised by the Soviet State, recruited into the GRU as teenager and then selected to come to UNCLE by my superiors and Alexander Waverly." As brief a synopsis as it was; that was probably the most he had ever told any one person about himself, including Napoleon. Even though he excluded a lot of information from his life's summary."

"I imagine it hasn't been easy for you being a Soviet, alone here...I bore the brunt of a fair amount of prejudice and suspicion being Irish in England, given the problems in Northern Ireland." she whispered.

"Yes, I too have experienced such problems as many Americans are highly suspicious of me, given that I still am a citizen of the Soviet Union. Many of them fear I am some sort of double agent..yes I have definitely experienced bigotry here. You are lucky in that you do not have the American C.I A. to contend with. I have been picked up by them several times for questioning, despite my status as an UNCLE agent. But I have chosen to ignore the comments and racist remarks made behind my back. I am not well liked by some yes, but I am not here to be liked, I am here to do a job. They have a nickname for me here.. I am known as the I'da knyaz'_ Ice Prince." he smiled," not very flattering as it speaks volumes of their opinions of me."

"I have a nickname too...they called me the Banshee back in London, it is a name associated with death in Irish legends...but I suppose it is an appropriate one for me, given my propensity to shoot first." she laughed a little nervously.

"Yes," said Kuryakin, I noticed that you had a high "kill ratio" in your agent statistics."

The two agents talked well past midnight, then finally parted, going home to their apartments. Illya walked home rather than taking a taxi, enjoying rather the now comfortable June air. There had been a thunderstorm earlier in the day and it had finally broken the cycle of heat and humidity, and allowed Spring to return to the air. It made him feel good, as perhaps did his second encounter with Elliott McGowan.

He found his thoughts drifting to her, and he allowed himself just for a moment a feeling of "what if...?"

* thanks to Aunt Debi for this contribution!


	6. Chapter 6

A friendship began to develop between Elliott and the Russian, and as they sought out each others company more frequently; they discovered they had many things in common, love of knowledge, music, literature, philosophy...they both always seemed to have their noses buried in a book and could always engage each other conversing at a more academic level if they desired.

Though they were two very different people; they found themselves drawn to each other. It was their similarities that brought them together but it was their apparent loneliness that anchored their friendship so firmly. Their brief visits and and conversations gave both of them a feeling of security and belonging. Something of which they had both sorely lacked in their lives.

They were both strong willed people and Elliott realized it came from their need to survive in this world, although that strength manifested itself differently in the both of them...

Illya took things as they came at him with a sense of calm and patience being like the golden wheat field bending in every direction in the wind as it blew, yet always springing back upright quickly. She on the other hand, was like an oak tree, strong, unbending and if the wind blew hard enough, even the mightiest of oaks would break.

Elliott realized like Illya, that she needed to learn to give way... to the ebb and flow of life. She needed to practice what she preached in her martial arts class and to seek balance and maintain focus the way the Russian did so naturally.

Many people said Illya Kuryakin was a cold man devoid of feeling, but as Elliott got to know him better she realized he possessed very strong and intense emotions that he simply chose to keep to himself. His sense of controlled calmness affected her deeply, and slowly she let her raging temper go because of him. She found she could handle it better now and Illya told her that doing so would only serve to make her a stronger person.

She realized with Illya it was always about staying in control. That was his single greatest strength.

Her frequent use of coarse language bothered him at times, even though she had heard him utter strings of epithets in Russian; he told her, while not trying to be judgemental; that she would gain more respect by using less "colorful" language and that "she did not need it to show others how strong she was, as it was her character that would reveal her strength to them."

Slowly, Elliott began to surrender her feelings of constantly needing to measure up in a man's world and worrying about keeping up with the boys as she realized it really didn't matter.

She was learning to do what had to be done, and not to worry about how others perceived her or treated her; this perhaps was one of the most important lessons she learned from her stoic Russian friend.

She knew now like Illya; that she truly had an important job to do, and nothing should deter her from that.

There were so many things she could learn from this quiet and unassuming man who had offered her his hand in friendship. Napoleon as well...who had reveled himself to be a devoted friend and a man of honor. These two had held out the the brass ring to her as she was spinning out of control on the life's carousel and she decided that she was going to grab on and hold tight.

So as the weeks passed Elliott settled in nicely to her apartment as they called it in the "States" and conveniently, it was a mere twenty minutes from headquarters. It was a far improvement over her cold water flat where she had lived in the East End of London.

Her few belongings had survived being shipped from England without harm, just clothes, books, her record albums, the orchid from J.P. her fiddle and a black steamer trunk filled with a some of her late father's belongings. That was it, that was all she possessed in this world. And it was enough as she felt no need for any such trappings that could hold her down.

At half eight, Elliott turned on a small radio that sat on her kitchen counter and heard the jingle "77 WABC! then voices starting to call the name "Cousin Brucie, Cousin Brucie!" over and over at least half dozen times getting progressively louder. She found the American disc jockeys just a bit annoying, but liked the music they played "Hi every body Cousin Brucie here " spoke the voice on the radio "and and we're counting down the top 40 hits and here we are at number 31 on the charts... from the Fab Four ..."Ticket to Ride!" Cousin Brucie will be there at Shea Stadium as they kick off their U.S. tour...

As the familiar song played, Elliott stopped for a second; reminiscing of home, she remembered seeing them once in Liverpool at the "Cavern." It was a dingy place with the outside walls and bricks painted black. I was a good memory seeing them before they made it big. What a night that was...first time she'd gotten...well. She smiled to herself, that seemed like a life time ago. In fact it had been a long time since she's gotten any ...sex that is.

She suddenly thought about Illya with those blue eyes and his boyish but handsome face, and that mop of golden hair...but it was his eyes that always stood out to her...she could get lost in those soulful eyes of his and fantasized for a brief second what it would be like to be with him... to make love. Elliott stopped herself. "No...she couldn't do that? He was her friend and colleague! What the hell was she thinking of letting her mind wander there?" She took a deep breath and composed herself looking for something else to put her mind on!

Elliott pulled open the black steam trunk that she'd placed at the foot of her large and brand new brass bed, and took out an old black and white photograph of a two men standing in front of an Irish gypsy caravan.

The photo was of her grand Da', Mícheal Mór Mc Gowan..."Big Mike" and her Da' Mike Óg, "Young Mike" as he was called. This was a childhood memory she had put away, having lived for a while with her grandfather's gypsy clan traveling the roads of Ireland in their covered horse drawn caravans, when her father would be off on police business. She smiled, thinking about it...not really missing that life though, but glad she had the chance to live it.

She placed the photograph on the small night table next to her bed, leaning up against the orchid that sat there as well. She normally wasn't one for putting out photographs, but being so far away; hearing the music had pulled at her heart strings making her a little homesick.

But this was her life now, on hold though it was, so Elliott focused herself on putting her new place in order. Books on the shelf...she'd categorize them another day. Hanging her clothes up in the closet, putting the rest in the single dresser in the bedroom. Fiddle away, made up the bed, organized the kitchen to her liking...

Her new home came sparely furnished but the only additions Elliott made to it were Irish lace curtains on the windows and the large bed, which became her refuge. Perhaps a warm soft "dolmen" in her mind that she could retreat to, just as she had done under the ancient standing stones in the Burrren. She loved snuggling in it, laying back and reading her books until the wee hours.

But like many other UNCLE agents, she was a light sleeper, and God help the person that touched her when she was asleep. She kept her weapon tucked under her pillow at night, as she had been taught to do. And it was a second nature to her to sit up at any strange noise with the gun automatically pointed in her hand.

Her first weeks settling seemed a blessing as Alexander Waverly was not sending her out on any assignments yet, keeping her ready to spearhead the on-going investigation of "The Mind Control Affair." Though she found herself becoming restless, waiting for the call that would send her back out into the field, giving her the chance to vindicate herself and hopefully settle the score with Smythe. Elliott was a firm believer in the philosophy of "payback is a bitch" and she was going to be just that when it came to this man. Yes, she was learning to control her temper...but she would release her full fury on this one... and the pay back would be for Jean Paul Simone!

She took to exploring the neighborhoods around her home, when not at headquarters; coming back from shops where, much to her delight, she had found Irish products; brown bread mix, Irish butter, rashers, bangers puddings, even McVite's biscuits and Turkish Delight!

Elliott discovered a local Irish pub that held traditional Irish music sésiúns every Sunday evening, and so found herself a spot among the other musicians to play some tunes on her fiddle and enjoy a glass of stout. So she filled her time waiting with the music she so loved.

Elliott would meet Illya frequently outside of headquarters usually having tea and a quick bite together lest the "gossip mongers" as Illya called them, caught on to the growing friendship and read more into it than was there. When they met she obliged him by speaking Russian and that pleased him to no end.

After a while their conversations began to drift to a more personal nature...and Kuryakin suddenly found himself talking to Elliott about things he had never spoken to anyone, not even his best friend Napoleon...his childhood, family, his survival and interment in the concentration camp...it all poured out of him like a waterfall and he did not know quite why. He was surprised that it felt good to speak about all these things after so many years of keeping both the bad and good memories imprisoned within himself.

"Elliott thought that perhaps it was cathartic and talking about what haunted him, could free him of it...

For years he had remained silent, sometime painfully so, even with Napoleon, the one person he had surrendered his trust to long ago but for some reason, that was all he was able to give the man and still Napoleon accepted it and him for what he was. The man was like a brother to Illya...and he felt ashamed that he could not tell his "brother" the same things he was now sharing with Eliottt...a woman he had only known a short time.

As she listened to him she made no comments or judgements; Illya did not want sympathy, he did not want to be mothered or controlled by others and he supposed they were some of the reasons why he gave even more trust to Elliott, as she tried to do none of those things to him in spite of knowing his sad past.

He found her fascinating, intelligent and she could converse on a variety of subjects in a number of languages and he finally, though reluctantly knew that he was falling for her, and hard. But he resisted opening that door as he knew it would be a mistake and would possibly ruin a good friendship. As Napoleon had warned him, Elliott did not like men "hitting" on her and he made sure that he did not do that.

Solo and Kuryakin disappeared on several missions while Elliott was on hold, waiting for her own assignment with the "lads" as she called them, to finally arrive. She found herself missing Kuryakin when he was off on assignment with Napoleon and envied them both, being out in the field when she was not.

Over the course of several weeks, she had begun teaching Illya to speak her native Gaelic and because he had an eidetic memory as well as a gift for languages; he mastered it quickly, needing only to build his vocabulary. As that improved he was able to add Gaelic to the long list of foreign languages in which was either competent or fluent.

She knew he was a lover of music, but mostly jazz and she'd gone with him to one of his favorite jazz clubs one night to hear what it was all about...she wasn't quite sure if she liked it and sometimes found the music a bit jumbled and cacophonous to her ear. Her love was traditional Irish music...folk music in essence that had evolved from the dance traditions of her native Ireland and fair play, she'd have him come listen to her music one night.

One evening after leaving headquarters separately on a Sunday evening in the middle of July, the two agents agreed to meet at McSorley's Old Alehouse on West 55th St. so that Illya could hear her own kind of music played at the music session she would sit in with her fiddle.

Illya walked into the to the pub having changed into a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt, then he spotted Elliott sitting in a booth with four other musicians, she was wearing a diaphanous floral cotton dress one shoulder of which insisted on slipping down. He had to force himself not to look at the whiteness of her bare shoulder, and knew her exposed skin meant she was not wearing a brassiere.

Illya forced himself to focus instead on the music, as he stood at the bar watching, listening and drinking the obligatory pint of strong Guinness Stout. He found himself fascinated by the melodies, rhythms and the "one-ness" of the players. He watched as a simple glance or word could change the demeanor of the music instantly.

The guitarist, noticing Illya's interest asked "do ye play me man?" and offered the Russian his instrument. Illya nodded and taking the instrument, he gave it a few strums to get the feel of it. He was a very quick study and already played the guitar, but he had watched the guitarist carefully, picking up some this chords and patterns as well and the rhythm of the strumming.

"Want to give it a lash?" smiled Elliott and he nodded to her.

"Sure then...6/8 time, key of G let's do "Maid on the Green to Frawleys." she called out. "A h-aon, a-do, a-tri, then began playing the set of jigs.

The Russian hesitated a minute listening to the tune, but having perfect pitch, he knew where to go with it, and began making the chord changes effortlessly.

When the set was done, they all gave him a round of applause, much to his chagrin. The guitarist insisted Illya stay, while he went off in pursuit of a pretty girl and a pint of stout at the end of the bar.

The music and the pints kept flowing for several hours, until finally it was over. And Illya, who was feeling no pain from the Guinness, insisted he escort Elliott back home to her apartment,

"Elliott, please it is late and I should walk you home"he smiled" even though I know you can take care of yourself, it would not be gentlemanly of me to let you go by yourself."

She laughed "How trés gallant of you Monsieur Kuryakin!"

He took her fiddle case from her had and carried it for her as they walked along the street still busy with traffic and pedestrians; her apartment wasn't far, only a few blocks away. Along the walk they chatted about the music. Illya was quite impressed with her musicianship as it had been the first time he had heard her play the violin.

"Fiddle" she corrected him.

"Is it not a violin...it looks the same?" he asked her somewhat perplexed

"The instrument is a violin...but when ye play my kind of music on it, then it's called a fiddle."

"Thank you, now I know" he smiled" it is always good to learn something new!

The last of the beautiful spring air was heady when they reached the steps to her apartment building...the moment was awkward, and Elliott broke the silence.

"Are ye hungry? I can make you an Irish breakfast...the real deal, rashers bangers, eggs brown bread and pot of strong tea, I think ye need that after all that stout ye drank.

Illya hesitated, then took her up on the offer, as he was a little hungry and feeling a bit light headed from the strong pints of stout he had consumed. Vodka he could drink all night, but the stout, though tasty was heavy and strong and he was not used to it.

Elliott opened the door to her apartment, resetting the alarm and while Illya nosed through her bookshelf as this was his first time in her home. She put the kettle on the boil for some tea and then proceeded to cook up scrambled eggs, Irish sausage, bacon and potatoes. Then warmed some thick slices of brown bread.

Minutes later the tea kettle whistled and she poured two mugs of strong Irish tea for the both of them...then she placed a small jar of seedless raspberry jelly on the table. She had noticed Illya putting it in his tea once and thought it oddly familiar...then she remember her mother used to do the same thing, and wondered if it was a Russian custom. So she bought some for herself and trying it she liked it, and now it was conveniently here for him to use as well.

There was one thing that Elliott had learned about her friend Illya when it came to food; he had one mighty appetite for a man who was so slender. When the food was ready, she made sure that there would be enough for a second helping for him.

'"Bon appetite" she said, placing the plate full of savory food in front of him.

She laughed as he attacked it like starving man.

She had never really noticed it before, "Do you always eat this fast?"

"It is a habit I have never lost...in Russia I shared an apartment with four other men and two women...meals were always communal and one had to learn to eat quickly if you wanted to eat at all...you never got a second helping. It was unheard of for a single person to have a place such as this" he gestured to the expanse of the apartment." Married couples had to apply for the privilege of of such privacy as long as they produced a "new" Soviet citizen.

"I have not had this since I left London" he smiled" I had forgotten how good this food was, especially the brown bread. Did you make it yourself"

A stór_dear, I'm good but I'm not that good...it was from a mix" she laughed.

"Well it is still delicious" he smiled.

She pulled out some of her records and put them on the Victrola...recordings though not main stream, were all the rage in Ireland...the Bothy Band and Planxty and the Chieftans, It was now one in the morning and she kept the volume low as to not disturb the neighbors.

She told him to sit and relax while she took care of the dishes, but he insisted on helping her clean up...then the two returned to the dining room table and Elliott produced a bottle vodka and two glasses.

After a few glasses of vodka Elliott got up to the phonograph and pulled out a record from it's paper sleeve..."I want ye to hear this...it's a one of kind recording, made by some traveling people back home in Ireland, it's one of my favorites. It's quite exotic*."

Illya watched her as she bent over the phonograph, admiring her body, thinking she was lovely. Then the music began first with a guitar then alto flute, perhaps a low keyed penny whistle.

"Elliott was right...it was exotic?"he thought. He watched her as she began to sway and dance as she listened to the music, moving freely and gypsy like in her steps. She circling around him slowly as he sat in the chair, gliding her hands across his shoulders. The music suddenly became wild, sounding almost middle eastern...then very quickly Elliott spun doing a series of intricate steps with her feet then and then the music just stopped. She was face to face with him breathing heavily.

"Elliott?" he whispered hoarsely" are you trying to seduce me?" Illya's conscience screamed out to him not to say that, but his body said otherwse...he wanted her.

Elliott leaned in, brushing her lips to his ear "yes..." she whispered.

"Then you have succeeded" he answered, giving into his desire; he pulled Elliott into his lap and kissed her deeply. His hands reaching up and pulling down the loose top of her dress, and his mouth found her breasts. She let out a gasp then pulled herself from his lap, then taking Illya by the hand, she lead him into the bedroom, whispering to him in Russian...

"Uhazhivat' za mnoj_make love to me?"

They undressed each other slowy, then slipped together into her great, soft bed.

Illya was a gentle lover, touching her in all the right places as if he had made love to her so many times before. He took his time, letting his hands roam across her body...exploring, touching gently, massaging ...tasting the salt of her perspiration. Then finally he entered her slowly and Elliott gasped as he did.

He was a patient lover, taking his time until he felt her excitement rising as she began to moan quietly, then he began to thrust harder until she reached orgasm. Then raising his chin upward, he arched his back with a barely audible moan and released his pleasure inside her.

He waited a moment, then dropped to the bed beside her, kissing her on the forehead, then wrapped her in his arms and closed his eyes.

It was there in the moonlight streaming through Elliott's bedroom window, that she saw the scars that covered his body when he rolled to his back...bullet wounds, scars from knife wounds, burns...long white scars from beatings with who knows what on his fair skin.

"Looking at my scars?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"Yes" she answered quietly," there's so many..." as if saying it made them hurt him.

Illya turned to his side, facing her resting his head on his hand "Napoleon has more, I think...he has been and agent longer than I have...they are an unfortunate side effect of our chosen profession."

He reached out with his hand to her thigh, tracing his finger around one of her own scars. "I noticed you have some too" he whispered" running his finger up her thigh across her side to her breast. " I like your freckles" he smiled, then leaned in and kissed her passionately on the lips. They made love again for a second time, then when they were both satisfied, they fell asleep in each others arms.

Illya woke just before dawn; he was accustomed to it and did not need an alarm clock. He rose quietly from the bed, then dressed himself.

"Elliott?" he whispered her name." wake up mon petite?" he called her my "little one" in French.

"Ya dolzhna idti_ I must be going." he said in Russian.

Elliott peaked out from under the sheet "mmm...morning already?"

"I am afraid so" he said stroking her cheek with the back of his hand" I must go home to shower and change" he smiled." you need to get ready too...we have a general briefing at 8 am...I will see you there." then he hesitated..."may I see you tonight?' He bent forward kissing her on the lips."

"Da...Vy mozhete_ yes you may" she smiled, then buried herself under the sheets. Five minutes later Elliott's communicator chirped and she answered it "Good morning Miss McGowan..." said Alexander Waverly.

* if you are curious about this exotic music do a search for a contemporary U.K. band called "Flook"...their music was the influence for this scene, i.e tracks "Asturian Way" and "Flutopia"


	7. Chapter 7

Napoleon was in early, for him at least ; as he always found himself running a bit late, except when it came to the general briefings on Monday mornings, as it was he as CEA, who conducted those meetings when he was not out on assignment. In his absence, Illya as the assistant to the CEA took care of them, and in both their absences; Waverly himself took over the reigns.

It was one of the responsibilities of Napoleon's position, albeit not his favorite one, but still part of the job. It was just an overview of the goings on for the week, bringing to light any unusual Thrush communiques or anything else of interest. Sometimes if there had not been much recent recent activity, then old business would be discussed, who was working on what...new leads and so forth. Even if it was a case that he was not involved with personally; he still needed to be made aware of what was going on with it.

There were a few times that it was required of him to conduct private briefings in regards to highly sensitive operations, or black ops. So his Monday calendar was usually a full one.

Then after the briefings were concluded, it was Napoleon's job to report it all to Waverly; whereby the "Old Man" would sit and discuss with Solo any disposition or changes in assignments based on the meeting, or if the general staff meeting was simply a "status quo," then Waverly would drag Solo into discussions of the "budget" which to Napoleon, a field agent at heart, was utter tedium.

It was all part of Napoleon's "other" training, as he was being groomed to take Alexander Waverly's place one day as the section chief of the most powerful of all the "continental" offices...UNCLE North America.

On average, Illya was in the office doing paperwork on Monday mornings, before Solo would arrive, but today his partner was conspicuously absent. Solo being up and about earlier than usual, had knocked at the Russian's door to offer him a ride on the way in, but wasn't answered. He thought nothing of it at the time.

His partner had been making himself "unavailable" more often than not lately and Napoleon wondered what his friend, being "tight-lipped" as usual was up to now? In the past, Illya, during a lull in assignments had once disappeared several nights a week taking a class in one of his many areas of expertise at C.U.N.Y. Napoleon had to tail him just to find out...

When confronted about it the Russian's only reply was that " his life was not an open book." "No kidding..." Napoleon thought. But after that incident he did notice that Illya became a little more thoughtful about keeping his partner abreast of at least some of his comings and goings.

Illya, though he would never admit it, was very much a creature of habit. He being a well-trained agent, would vary his routine of course... change his times spent in his lab, change his routes, change his departure and arrival times, varied the eateries he frequented as, the jazz clubs he went to. But the places he went were generally the same...Illya just "rotated" them.

So Napoleon suspected something was going on, as there had been a definite change in his partner's routine of being un-routine. So it might be time again, for him to practice his surveillance skills...

Kuryakin finally walked through the door to the conference room at five minutes to eight and seated himself quietly next to his partner without saying a word.

"Cutting it a bit close...late night last night?" he whispered to Illya.

"Overslept..." came a blunt reply.

"Oh no..." Solo thought,smiling to himself, " Illya Kuryakin never oversleeps; he knew for sure that his partner was up to something.

With just a second to spare; Miss McGowan slipped through the door followed by Jerry Smith, and Mike Anderson who seemingly avoided an open seat next to the Russian, and walked to the far side of the table to sit there instead.

Napoleon stood up..."Good morning, going forward " he announced " I would like you to make sure that you do not cut it so close when coming to this briefing...I know it's Monday morning, but it would serve you better to here with enough time to settle yourselves in before we begin... understood?"

He received nods from the guilty parties, then proceeded with the meeting...concluding it forty five minutes later. The agents departed the CEA conference room, Elliott and Illya giving each other a quick discreet glance before she left. The Russian, however remained seated at the table waiting for his partner.

"So are you going to tell me what's going on with you? Taking another class perhaps?"asked Napoleon as he gathered his notes.

"I have not been up to anything...why is there a problem?" answered the Russian.

"No, not really, I just haven't seen much of you and was wondering what you've been up to, that's all" he smiled.

"Oh...I have been doing a little research into the "Mind Control Affair" if that is what you have discerned as a break in my routine...perhaps?" Illya smiled back at him, being in part truthful.. though it wasn't exactly the kind of research that his partner would have been expecting him to be involved in.

"Oh...O.K. thanks, I was just curious, that's all" he replied, not giving it another thought. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee before I head of to my meeting with the Old Man...care to join me?"

"I will pass on that thank you, perhaps we can have lunch together then? I have to do attend to something in my lab." he answered, gathering up his notepad and files.

"Sounds like a plan tovarisch, so around noon then?"

Illya nodded and then was out the door.

At nine thirty on the button, Solo arrived in Alexander Waverly's conference room for his briefing, only to find his partner and Elliott McGowan seated at the conference table.

"Yes, come in Mr. Solo" said Waverly,"please be seated and we'll begin... let me clarify that this is a briefing in regards to the "Mind Control Affair" and not our usual Monday meeting. I have received a report from Mr. Duchamp in the Paris office indicating the approximate location of the new satrap. It is as I initially suspected in the North of Ireland...but we have not been able to find out anything more specific than that.

There has been an additional complication added into the situation...as you all are aware, I'm sure that there is an on-going unrest in that part of the world. Our sources have indicated that a splinter group of the Irish Republican Army has somehow linked it self to Thrush."

"Miss McGowan...if you would elucidate please?" asked Waverly.

"1962 there was a move by Irish Republican Army chief of staff, a one Cathal Goulding, to move the I.R.A. from a purely militaristic approach and bring it further towards the left and ultimately to Marxist politics. This action has served to fracture the movement and alienate some of it's members.

Elliiott stepped up to the video screen control panel, turning it on revealing the image of a young man somewhere in his late twenties, early thirties photographed standing in front of a bar. In the background where there unclear images of three other people with him, one of them a woman.

"Gentlemen, this is Séan Ó Dúinn, also known as Séan Óg, the leader of a radical left-wing splinter group of the I.R.A based in Belfast , Northern Ireland. He has apparently cut ties with the hierarchy of the I.R.A. as their focus through their political wing Sinn Féin has leaned further than ever toward political, economic and social agitation, rather than a continued use of terrorist tactics their attempt to to force the issue of uniting Ireland into an independent state." she then changed to another view, showing Ó Dúinn and another two men.

"The man on the left is Fiach O'Dowd, his lieutenant and the other man is Terrence Finnerty his enforcer...the muscle of the group and is considered somewhat of a sadist in his strong-armed tactics.

She switched to another photo, this time to that of a dark-haired woman. "This is Fiona Ó Dúinn, Séan's sister, also known for being quite brutal.

The Ó Dúinn's are gypsies, in Ireland referred to as "tinkers" or as of late, "travelers" in reference to their somewhat nomadic life style.

Originally this lot was a typical cell, involving itself in gun-running, bombings and terrorist tactics; sources in the RUC, Scotland Yard as well as INTERPOL say they were tracking this particular group, until suddenly, they went off the radar with the cessation of their standard activities. They were recently seen in the company of this man..."another image flashed on the screen" "Richard Reuter, a known member of Thrush; he was associated with the satrap in Marseilles that my late partner and I infiltrated earlier this year to locate the lab manufacturing the new mind control substance."

"As Mr. Waverly indicated, the new lab is believed to be located somewhere in the North of Ireland, but there is nothing more specific than that. I would venture to guess that is outside of Belfast as the city is somewhat on a smaller scale when compared to New York for instance, and given the restrictions of the Protestant and Catholic zones the comings and goings of Thrush "outsiders" would be too obvious. It has been surmised that instead of using guns and explosives to create chaos in the North, Séan Óg has availed himself of Thrush's help and intends to use the new substance instead to wreak havoc, and thereby escalate the "troubles" in the North. UNCLE labs also suspect that the formula for the substance may have been refined by now and can do more than compel subjects to commit suicide."

"Thank you Miss McGowan" said Waverly." Gentleman, as I stated to you in a previous briefing, Miss McGowan will spearhead this investigation, as not only her involvement with the previous delving into this case, as well as her cultural and ethnic background...her lay of the land, so to speak, will be vital in the mission.

"She has formulated a plan to infiltrate the terrorist cell and she and Mr. Kuryakin, whom I understand has become somewhat adept in the Gaelic language, will be posing as fellow "travelers" to Ó Dúinn in order to gain his confidence into revealing the location of the new lab facility." said Waverly.

"You Mr. Solo, will be involved in a parallel investigation of Owen Smythe in the London office...I need to know if he is indeed the traitor and if he has any ties to this new satrap in Ireland. However, I will leave it to you decide the means of drawing him out..."

"You will have five days to fully organize yourselves before departing, I suggest you use the time wisely...Mr. Solo if you would be so kind as to remain and bring me up to date on this mornings briefing."

That was Illya and Eliott's cue to leave, and they did so quickly.

"We need to talk." said Illya once they were out into the corridor," but not here."

"Well, ye are coming tonight are ye not?"

"Most definitely." he smiled." I will bring dinner...Chinese?"

Elliott walked away from him backwards, nodding her approval to him then turning around; she disappeared down into the elevator.

Solo and Kuryakin met in the commissary for lunch, as pre-arranged at noon. Illya was already waiting at a table drinking a cup of tea, when Napoleon finally arrived. The two grabbed a couple of sandwiches then at down together.

"So what do you have in mind to draw out Owen Smythe? Illya asked.

"I have an idea that Smythe if indeed has turned traitor; is obviously unhappy with his status in UNCLE and has involving himself with what he perceives as the "winning team." What I have in mind is to let it be known upon my arrival in London,is of my own apparent unhappiness with the organisation...just to see if I can gain his confidence and if he'll invite me in for a to join him for a"piece of the action."

"Napoleon...even though Waverly does not suspect Harry Beldon of treachery, do not underestimate that he has not...turned. Smythe is Harry's protegée, just as I was. But Harry is not above being in collusion with Smythe...as he is an ambitious man and will use whatever opportunity comes his way to better his situation. He used me in such a fashion and I was glad to have been transferred here to New York and away from his questionable methods."

"So what's this about Elliott giving you language lessons in Gaelic?"

"Apparently she and Waverly knew more the affair than they have been letting on...I suspect she has preparing me for this assignment, without my knowledge." Illya answered truthfully.

Later that evening Illya showed up at Elliott's apartment bearing Chinese take-away and a few questions. She laid out some dishes and utensils on the dining table and they ate quietly, until he broke the silence.

"So when were you going to tell me that you were teaching me Gaelic in preparation for this mission?" he asked her quietly.

"Illya, I wasn't, I was just teaching ye another language...my language and for no other reason. Although I admit, doing so may have been a little prophetic on my part. I just found out everything this morning; Waverly contacted me not five minutes after ye left.

The reason that I am so familiar with Ó Dúinn and his ilk is because I was part of an INTERPOL task force that was investigating I.R.A activity.

"Then what is this plan that you have for us to pose as..."tinkers" as you said?"

"Yes, we will pose as itinerant musicians, brother and sister...who happen to be members of a local clan that was wiped out several years ago by the British...suspected of gun-running for the I.R.A. This is a verifiable truth and the simple explanation that we were both in the South of Ireland is the only reason we survived the massacre and now we've returned seeking revenge against the British."

"ye will have to change that blond hair of yours...with a temporary rinse, ta give it more of a red color."

Illya ran his fingers through his hair nervously, then made a remark a about suddenly feeling "incestuous" having to play the part of her brother..." and Elliott laughed at him.

Illya was satisfied with her explanations and no longer thought that she had duped and used him. The two agents sat on the sofa together after eating; Elliott helping the Russian work on his northern Irish accent. One thing lead to another and they ended up in her bed again, making love to each other, talking and whispering and laughing as only new lovers can do.

"Do you know the first time I ever say you?" he whispered.

"Here at headquarters I imagine..."

"No...it was New Years, in Paris."he smiled" you were wearing that amazing French Maid's costume..."I did not know it was you at the time though.

"I kind of figured ye were there...I'd always heard where Solo was, Kuryakin was not far away. I didn't know what ye looked like then...where were ye?

"Up on the balcony, watching you and Napoleon waltzing...you were quite a sight..." he sighed " I fantasized about that woman for a long time. You certainly looked quite feminine and sexy..."

Elliott laughed the snuggled up closed to him as her wrapped his arm around her. "do you ever regret that you bear a masculine name?" he asked.

"She laughed softly. "Sometimes... there are times I need reminding that I'm a woman too... ye can call me Ellie if you want."

Illya smiled..."that reminds me of an American television program I once saw...it was about a family of poor mountain people who suddenly became rich, discovering oil on their property...they somehow end up living in a very posh city in California, very much out of their social and intellectual environment. One of the characters was called Ellie...I think the show was supposed to be funny, but I thought it more a sad commentary about the class system in the United States..."

"oh so ye are thinking I'm an American hillbilly then are ye? Elliott laughed, elbowing him just a little.

"Well your short name like that an ignorant mountain woman's" he teased and your full name is that of an American G. man...may I call you something different, a name used between just the two of us? You have a Russian name as well...perhaps I could call you Tatayana or Anya?" he whispered to her.

"Anya..." she smiled " I like that." she whispered back to him, suddenly kissing him and rolling him onto his back, then climbing on top of the Illya, she leaned down, kissing him passionately.

"Annushka..." he moaned as they made love once more, this time Elliott on top.

Illya spent the night again, and the next morning, found it very difficult to leave her bed. He finally rose, heading home where he showered and shaved, dressed, arriving at work just after Napoleon.

Solo had, the night before had stopped at Illya's apartment that was several floors below his in the same building where they both lived, looking for his partner to go out with him for a drink, but then found that the Russian was not home again. The next morning when Illya, who was always early, arrived at headquarters late again made him suspicious that the Russian had played him about not being up to something...

Illya met Elliott along with Napoleon in the map room, going over detailed maps of Belfast city and the outlying areas. Elliott went over the cover story with him as it was decided Napoleon would also have to double as their back up, just in the event they got in trouble in Ireland. Since theirs was a black ops; no one in London could be aware of their operation; he was the only one who could come to their aid. So the American needed to be as familiar with the area as possible...the only others who could possibly be involved and only minimally were agents from a very small UNCLE "field office" located in Dublin.

The day went quickly, and at he end of the evening the three parted ways going home... Illya left his apartment around seven o'clock, and this time his partner followed him carefully to a restaurant a few blocks away.

He watched the Russian go in but was unable to see, where he was or with whom, without giving himself away. And so Napoleon waited in the dark alley across the street. An hour later the Russian and a female companion exited into the dimly lit street. Illya being gentlemanly walked to the outside, so view of the woman was hidden in the shadows.

They walked but a few yards down the sidewalk, when Illya suddenly stopped, backing the woman into the darkness against a wall, pinning her there, kissing her.

Napoleon smiled as he continued to follow them until he saw the two stop in front of the stoop to a brownstone, who's address was very familiar to him. And he watched as Illya again pulled the woman into his arms to kiss her and Napoleon could now see the woman's long red hair shining in the light of a streetlamp.

"Son of a bitch" he made a face...not quite sure if he was now happy about this. The two entered the building, and Solo continued to watch as after a few minutes, a third floor light went on. He waited and watched, until that light went off, but seeing no sign of Illya exiting the building; he knew is partner was spending the night,

The next morning Napoleon returned, leaning himself against the lamp post just by the stoop of Elliott's apartment building, around the time he guessed Illya would depart, in hopes of catching his partner in a "walk of shame."

Illya and Elliott awoke early, she having put the kettle on for tea and made some quick toast to hold the Russian over until he could grab some breakfast at the commissary.

Elliott would be heading down to the armory today, gathering the equipment and accoutrement's they would need for the mission.

Illya kissed her goodbye, then bounded down the stairs, munching on a piece of toast, when he exited the building running right into his partner leaning against the light post, with his arms crossed.

Illya ignored Napoleon and walked straight past the man.

"Good morning to you too!" Solo called out, walking after him.

"What are you doing here Napoleon?" Illya said tersely as his partner caught up beside him.

"The better question is...what are you doing here? I followed you last night...from the restaurant."

"It is none of your business" Illya said with a coldness in his voice.

"The hell it isn't!" said Napoleon as he took hold of the Russian's arm, stopping him." look, I think I need to know if you are screwing one of my agents...especially one that we are about to go on a mission with...I mean...well it's not that I have to know your sex life, it's just that you and she...well don't you think it could complicate the assignment? And weren't you the one who told me that you weren't going to pursue her?"

At first Illya had gotten red in the face, then he calmed down. "Napoleon,it just "happened"...before we were assigned to the mission. It was not planned...and were you not the one who encouraged me to "go for it?"

Solo let go of his friends arm and they continued walking along the sidewalk..." Yeah...you're right... well I have to say you could have chosen a better time to make her your girlfriend?"

"She is not my girlfriend..."

"Well girlfriend or not...I need to know that you are are thinking with the right head tovarisch, I don't need you and she compromising the mission in some way!"

Illya stopped and faced his partner." Look...I will discuss this with her tonight. I understand the need for professionalism and I am sure she will as well...in the meantime, swear to me one thing Napoleon that you will say nothing of this to anyone...I do not wish my personal life to be the next subject being ground through the rumor mills at headquarters?"

Napoleon just smiled and shrugged his shoulders, teasing the Russian.

"Illya became annoyed..."I swear Napoleon if I hear one inkling of this among the secretaries...or from anyone else anyone for that matter. I will...well, the the next time you are in trouble and about to die...I will not come to your rescue!"

"Wow...take it easy!" laughed Solo" no need for threats my friend, you have my word...I was just teasing you."

Then the two became silent for a few minutes as they continued walking.

"So...tell me" Napoleon asked softly," I'm curious, since she's the "one that got away,' is she any good.?"

Illya stopped again and looked at his friend, suppressing a smile," a gentleman does not say."

"Hey no need for insults...and besides, you're the only one I can talk to remember that."

"Illya apologized for the dig to his friend..." I cannot believe that you followed me? he laughed just a little...then became serious," and I cannot believe that I did not see you?"

Napoleon grinned," Hey when you're good, you're good...and I'm better."

That night as Illya lay in bed with Elliott, he brought up the concerns of Napoleon, letting her know their secret had been discovered.

"He is right Annushka...we have to step away from each other while we are on this mission. Our lives could depend upon it and we cannot allow ourselves to distract each other. We have two days left before departing for Ireland...I think it is best that we spend it apart and take the time to focus on the task ahead."

"Yer right..."she whispered " this has complicated things a bit, hasn't it? It's going to be dangerous, there's always a chance we could be killed on any mission but the odds are stacked against us on this one...

Ó Dúinn and his people are a vicious lot and won't hesitate to kill us if we're found out. Unlike Thrush, who might have a use for a UNCLE agent; these people won't."

Illya and Elliott made love...both thinking that there was a very good chance that it could be the last time; saying nothing to each other about their fears.


	8. Chapter 8

Two days later Napoleon, Illya and Elliott were winging their way on board a prototype of the new Learjet 24, a private transcontinental jet that would not be available to the public for another year. The three agents settled themselves in for the long flight departing JFK at 8 o'clock Sunday evening, not arriving at Heathrow until the next day at 7 in the morning, leaving them all no doubt jet lagged... Illya had the right idea, settling into his seat and falling asleep immediately before the plane had even finished taxiing.

Elliott sat across the aisle from the Russian, glancing over to him as the jet moved quickly down the runway and into the air. She let her mind wander to the nights they had spent together; foolishly letting her guard down, having no inhibition against enticing the man into bedding her.

Sex was something she had used in the past, merely as a tool...this is what she had been taught was another weapon in the arsenal of a spy, but with the Russian, she had let sex control her instead of she controlling it and had crossed the line she had promised herself she would not do.

Elliott seduced Illya because she had fallen for him but didn't want to admit that to herself, nor even tell him that was how she felt...that just wasn't done in this business and the feelings frightened her.

He had not said anything about having any such feeling for her or not...so she tried to convince herself that it had all been just about lust and sex. Illya seemed to cut himself off from her effortlessly those last two days and that made her lean toward the idea that it had been for him, just about the sex and nothing more...

Once they were air bound Elliott rose from her seat, getting coffee from the galley and brought some back to Napoleon where he sat in the back of the jet, placing the mug on the small conference table in front of him as he looked through a dossier on Owen Smythe.

"Thanks" her smiled at her," We haven't had much time to talk have we?"

"I suppose not," she said'' and I suppose ye want to talk about me and your partner?"

"I think Illya already voiced my concerns about you two...and he assured me that you both will behave as professionals...enough said" he smiled.

"Not fer anything Napoleon...but Illya doesn't speak for me? "

"True, true.."he smiled taking a sip of his coffee. So what is it you want to say to me then?"

"I want ta apologize for coming ta New York with such a chip on my shoulder. I know that ye and I sorted things out between us, but I feel I owe ye an even greater apology for my behaviour. I want to assure you that what happened between yer partner and meself will not affect the mission in any way...I think that ye needed ta hear that from me as well?"

"Thank you Elliott, I appreciate you saying that," Napoleon hesitated for a moment, "You know Illya and I have been not only partners for a long time, we've also been friends...I don't mean overstep my bounds...but the man has become like a brother to me..."

"Look" he paused, struggling for the right words." Illya doesn't seem to have an easy time of it when it comes to women. There's a lot I still don't know about him after all these years and that's the way it is with him... but I do know he's a good man, now on the other hand, I don't know you that well at all" he paused again "I just don't want to see him get hurt...if you know what I mean? Now as far as the mission is concerned...it's your baby, and your call...I want you to know that I have no problem with that."

"I understand Napoleon...yer a good man yerself and a good friend to him. You have nothing to worry about, that I promise you" she smiled. "He's lucky to have a friend and a partner like you."

"Don't forget...you're my friend too...partner" he winked at her.

"Thank you Napoleon...I'll try not ta let ye down." Elliott smiled cradling her own coffee mug in her two hands.

Solo and McGowan got down to business going through Owen Smythe's dossier with a fine tooth comb and could find nothing out of the ordinary. The man's psychological profile seemed O.K...the man had his weaknesses but nothing that seemed out of the ordinary, his record as a field agent had been exemplary and nothing to indicate why he might have turned traitor. Even his banking records were clean, nothing excessive in his account or in his debt.

Elliott had pointed out that the British agent had begun acting hostile towards her only within the past year...prior to that he seemed alright in his demeanor towards her. It was only after after Harry Beldon had started assigning Elliott the lead on several cases that Smythe seemed to begin taking a dislike to her as if she somehow threatened him.

As much as she disliked the man; she found it hard to fathom why and agent of his standing would risk throwing away his career with UNCLE because he resented a woman...that just didn't make sense. There was something else that Napoleon said he was missing and couldn't quite put his finger on it yet and she felt the same way. What was it they were missing about him?"

Illya woke several hours later when the aroma of food had called to him, picking himself up with a yawn, and walking to the back table where the flight hostess had just placed hot sandwiches and soup for Solo and McGowan.

"Yours will be ready in a moment Mr. Kuryakin" she smiled, disappearing to the galley.

"Hey...ye need to take care of that hair" Elliott reminded him, handing Illya a bottle of hair rinse. He again ran his fingers through his blond hair, as if he were dreading having to do it.

Illya disappeared with it into the lavatory after they had all eaten... stripping off his shirt; he poured the liquid onto his hair, then slowly towel-dried it. It was as he had feared when the Russian looked in the mirror at his image. He had colored his hair previously for assignments, but never this auburn shade and he stared hard at the face in the mirror now; seeing the faces of his father Nicholaí and his brother Dimitry...and another face, one that he did not want to be reminded of. Someone who's very existence Illya wanted to deny...Kiril Andropov, a man who haunted him at his days at the University of Georgia...then at training for the intelligence service.

Illya shook the feeling from himself..."that was another life," he finally whispered; dismissing it as he dressed himself in the clothes for his disguise...blue jeans,a beat-up pair of boots, a black cotton shirt, brown corduroy vest, well-worn brown leather jacket, a neckerchief tied 'round his throat, and a capín for his head, tilted to the "Kerry" side as Elliott had shown him. He finally tucked a purple and white packet of "Silk Cut" cigarettes in to his shirt pocket then stepped back out into the cabin of the jet.

When he walked out Napoleon and Elliott were surprised at how a simple change of hair color had altered the Russian so much in his appearance.

"Jay-sus!" said Elliott ye could pass for a local without a problem," she said adjusting the tilt of his cap." so Napoleon...meet me brother Séamie." she smiled.

Napoleon looked at the two of them side by side pronouncing they could pass well enough for brother and sister between the red hair and their blue eyes...as well as both of them being on the short side.

"Napoleon!" moaned Illya.

"Sorry" Napoleon smiled meekly, forgetting his partner's sensitivity on that subject.

"Bheul...an é seo maith go leor_is this good enough?" Illya spoke to Elliott in Irish," sticking his thumbs under the lapels of his tattered jacket.

"Sure it's grand, it's a regular "knacker" ye are! " she smiled, calling him another word for a tinker, with a very heavy brogue. She then went and changed herself, to one of her billowing floral skirts, knee length black boots, a rust colored blouse with long belled sleeves, over that a short sleeve burgundy velvet jacket. The colors were a mix of dark and garish, making her look wild and exotic, like an Irish Esmeralda.

They each added weather-worn canvas ruck sacks with a few odd pieces of clothing to the look and of course had their musical instruments...for Illya a beat up old guitar in a weather worn, hard shell case and Elliott, an old fiddle, she'd found the instruments in a pawn shop in New York, opting not to bring her own fiddle on the assignment.

They each carried pistols tucked in their waistbands, behind their backs; Illya a Russian Makarov PM that was a cross between a 380 automatic and 9 mm. and Elliott a model 21 Glock...a 45 ACD. The both carried small caliber automatics as backups..."Saturday night specials," as they were referred to as well as throwing knives.

Eight hours later they arrived at Heathrow airport; exiting the plane Illya and Elliott carrying only the rucks sacks, having hidden their communicators in their clothing, as well as other miniaturized UNCLE gadgetry and explosive devises, that upon inspection would seem as ordinary every day items.

Napoleon carried only a small valise and as they walked together across the tarmac heading toward the terminal, he leaned to his partner whispering, "Be careful on this one tovarisch?" Before Illya could answer, Solo disappeared into the crowds of passengers deplaning into the airport.

Illya and Elliott headed via public transport to Euston Station in London, then off to take the ferry to Holyhead, on to the port of Dun Laoghaire in Ireland, four miles south of Dublin. They needed to play their parts, not knowing who would see them, so they hitched rides in to Baile atha Cliatha (Dublin) ate at a "chippy" along Wellington Quay then headed up Fleet Street where they found a cheap and somewhat seedy hotel to crash in, as Elliott put it they were "fairly knackered_tired."

The room had twin beds, and they each lay down wordlessly, with their backs to each other, falling asleep quickly. Then late in the afternoon after they awoke, feeling refreshed and headed back up Fleet Street to Temple Bar for bite to eat and their first music session together in Ireland...mainly for Illya to get in more practice.

They were looked upon as a couple of "culshies" … a term used by the local "Dubs" referring to a country person from outside of Dublin, meaning their and more specifically Illya's cover was a success, as he was not detected as being a "blow in"...a foreigner. There were a couple of remarks about them both being a "ginger"...red heads, as that hair color was not as common in Ireland as one would think, but nothing else was said and they knew they were in the clear, passing their first test among a local crowd.

The "after hours" session ended around 2 am and the agents headed back out onto the darkened streets of Dublin...wandering up towards Trinity College, Elliott's Alma Mater; she stopped and stared out at the buildings, smiling at Illya for a moment. " a lot of memories there," she said to him. Then they headed back to the hotel for some sleep... on the way back, the only people seen now and then were a few wobbling down the street on drunken legs.

They walked silently not saying a word staying completely focused on maintaining their cover, when suddenly two men stepped out from the shadows "gi' us yer munny," one of them said in a very thick accent. And yer instruments," added the other, as he had a gun pointed close to Elliott's head.

"No" she answered non-plussed and just as suddenly, grabbed the man's gun hand, snapping the wrist and then driving the heel of her hand upward into the man's nose. When he went down he hit the ground with a quiet thud and his partner turned on his heels and ran disappearing into the darkness.

Illya picked up the pistol from the street " well done" he said, then tucked the weapon into his jacket pocket. Then he and Elliott stepped over the man lying on the side walk without another word and continued down the street, returning to their hotel.

Again they said nothing as they prepared for bed, then after Illya had laid down he called across to her... "Good night...Annushka."

Elliott smiled "Good night Illuysha" she said back to him.

The next morning, they got themselves a quick bite to eat then headed out, finding themselves a lift on a Lorry that was heading north towards Belfast. It was about a 167 kilometers and would take just a little over two hours give or take a stop or two by the driver for lunch and a couple of pints.

After getting past the British check points at the border and several beyond that the two agents finally arrived in Belfast. They found themselves a cheap B&B among some brick row houses on Grace Street...then set about establishing themselves in the area...busking on the streets during the day for change, playing in local sessions at night and after a week the locals became accustomed to their presence. All the while the agents keeping an eye out for Séan Ó Dúinn and his group, who were purported to frequent the pubs in that part of the city.

While waiting to head out to the bars for the sessions, Elliott and Illya would spend time in the room at the B&B, now working on "Shelta" the language of the travelers, in Gaelic "lucht siúil_the walking people. Called "Gammon" or "the Cant" by the travelers; it was a language that was secret and used primarily to conceal meaning from outsiders...most words being formed from the Irish Gaelic.

She explained the language as best she could to the Russian..."the Irish word is reversed to form a Gammon... for example mac meaning son, becomes kam in Gammon... consonant and blends are transposed, a sound or a cluster of sounds are either prefixed or suffixed to and Irish word wit s,gr or g ...so obair the word for work , becomes gurber...many Gammon words are formed by substituting an arbitrary consonant or blend in and Irish word...even though they're not Rom...there are Romany words incorporated yet the grammar and syntax are English..

"Whoa?" said Illya who was usually not perplexed by a foreign language but with this one he felt a little lost."If I had time to study it more in detail, I am sure I would master it..." he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well I'll just have to teach you a few basic phrases then...and we'll pass ye off as a bit of a quare man then" she smiled.

"Quare man?" Illya asked, imitating her accent perfectly.

"Ah sure..someone who's a bit of an eccentric...once we meet up with Ó Dúinn...we'll say yer not much one for the talk...but ye like to make things "blow up..."

"So there's a bit a half truth in it" he smiled speaking in dialect " I do like the blowin' up of 'tings."

Elliott smiled at as he sounded so authentic then proceeded to teach him some basic greetings and phrases in Shelta...and the last phrase she gave him, trying to test the waters..."the word póg_kiss...in Shelta is gop, so the phrase "Bug us a gop?, meaning give us a kiss...?" she asked tentatively.

Illya smiled at her and whispered, " do not tempt me please Annushka? But he gave her a kiss on the forehead...the first physical contact she'd had with him since they left New York." We will make up for lost time after this mission is over..." he told her quietly.

"truly?" she whispered back to him.

"Da, my budem zanimat'sya lybov'vy snova...YA obeshchayu vam,chto." he whispered to her in Russian...yes, we will make love again, I promise you that."

Every night they again headed out to one of the local pubs, this time to "Bittles Bar," another of Ó Dúinn's purported hangouts...the agents had little luck in the previous days spotting Séan Óg and his group and let it be known that they were looking for the I.R.A man without being too obvious. Bittles was a curious triangular building, situated on a narrow piece of land between Victoria Street and Upper Church Lane, the red brick building stood four stories, with the pub on the first floor...its rounded entrance and archways covered by black wrought-iron bars. The music was normally in the basement but tonight for some reason it was being held up in the bar...

Elliott and Illya walked in with their instrument cases, and getting the nod of approval from the locals, were invited silently to sit in the music session to play some tunes...the old punters sat around the musicians drinking their pints and chatting away until the music began, starting off with a slow set of hornpipes, followed by a few sips of ale and porter.

Then another set of tunes more lively...eventually they asked Elliott to lead off a set...but just as she was ready to start, Illya leaned over, whispering in her ear.

To his left he had spotted, just coming in the bar entrance, Terrence Finnerty, a ginger headed man himself, but with a much lighter shade of hair color than Elliott and Illya. He was a short, stocky with well-developed biceps that he crossed in front of his chest as he stood, surveying the bar for any possible threats, then deciding it was safe; he opened the door letting Séan Óg walk inside, followed by the dark haired sister Fiona and bringing up the rear, Fiach O'Dowd.

They sat at a table giving them access to the door, but close to the musicians...the barman poured their pints and brought them over to the table immediately. And now Elliott understood why the session had been moved from the basement, which if there was problem, would leave Ó Dúinn and his mates only one exit and they could be conceivably be trapped...upstairs they had multiple escape routes.

Elliott continued to play the reel set she had started with the others, when Fiona Ó Dúinn got up and began to dance wildly to the music...not the standard step-dancing one would see the little Irish children do in their brightly colored costumes, but a much different type called sean-nós meaning "old way or style." it was a free moving dance, with intricate steps...Illya recognized it as the same sort of dance from that night in Elliott's apartment.

This was Elliott's opportunity to break the ice, so she put down her fiddle and joined Fiona...at first they did their own steps at the together, but then they began to trade off going back and forth in a little competition...trying to out do each other in the intricacy of their patterns. There were calls and "whoops" from the crowd and their dancing became more competitive.

The musicians picked up on it and quickened the tempo of the tunes as dancing became more frenetic...until Fiona stumbled, surrendering to Elliott who continued to dance, turning in a spin to the music that she knew was about to end, bringing her closer to Séan Óg. When the music stopped abruptly; she dropped down into his lap with a laugh, kissing him hard on the lips..." Grált'a_a Shéain Ó Dúinn_ hello Sean Doone, she greeted him in Gammon.

Instantly, Terrence and Fiach were both up with guns pointed at her head.

Illya froze, as did the other musicians, then he discreetly moved his hand to his coat pocket, placing it around the handgun Elliott had taken from the mugger in Dublin.

"Stad_stop," said Sean in Irish, telling his men to stand down.

"Who are ye girl?" speaking in Shelta, picking her up off his lap easily, and standing Elliott in front of him.

" Is mise Nuala Ní Ghormáin_ I'm Nuala Ó Gorman"she answered, still breathing heavily" and that ginger fellow there with the guitar is my brother... we've been lookin' fer ye. We're of the Lucht siúil like yourself...the Pavee, of the Ó Gormáins of Laois...we wish to join yer cause..."

"Gormans...that Pavee clan was wiped out by the British not far from here but two years ago...so how can you claim them for your own as they are all dead.?"

"Not all Séan...my bother and I were to the South when the massacre happened...Shéamie was in jail...as we had one of our "grifts" gone bad." Many of the travelers were notorious for pulling scams and robbing people and Elliott knew this scéal_story would fly with Ó Dúinn..."

Elliott stared at the man, smiling seductively.

"Ah sure she's lyin'!" hissed Fiona, more angry than anything that Elliott had shown her up in the dance.

"And so why would I be lettin' the likes of ye...join up with the likes of me?" Séan smiled at her.

"Revenge" she smiled cruelly," against them feckin' Brits fer killin' my people! They died doing their part for the cause...running guns into the city!"

Séan bade her sit down in a chair next to him."And how is it that yer thinkin' I'm into it?"

Elliott looked perplexed..."Séan Óg Ó Dúinn is the man to see I was told...or are ye not? If not, then I'll take me trade elsewhere...fine by me." she said standing up.

Séan hesitated..."no, I can use ye...tell yer bother to come here."

Elliott motioned for Illya to come over...Fiach and Terrance stepped forward, blocking Illya's path, frisking him and removing his three hand guns and throwing knife, then let him pass to sit at the table.

"This is me bother Séamie...say hello Séamus." she prompted Illya.

"Slum dorahóg_evenin," Illya mumbled in Shelta." ye gonna let me blow up some 'tings fer ye...I like blowin' 'tings up..."Illya switched to Irish, giving the man a strange, demented sort of smile."

"Me brothers a bit quare in the head...don't mind him, he doesn't talk much, but a good with the explosives he is." she added with another smile.

The barman brought over another round of Guinness...and the musicians began to play again.

"Bin lar't ang lart_good health to ye" said Séan Óg raising his pint glass.

Illya raised his pint returning the toast in Shelta " Stafa tap hu_ Long life to you"...with the exception of "give us a kiss..." Illya had just about used up most of his Shelta.

After finishing the drinks, Séan waved Terrence over, whispering something in the man's ear...then he disappeared out the front door of the bar. Ten minutes later her re-appeared, waving to the group to join him

"We'll see how on the up and up ye two are" said Ó Dúinn, following Terrance out the door. They were lead across the Lane to a decrepit warehouse. Inside was a man conscious, but laying drunk on the ground.

Terrence pulled the fellow up by the back of his shirt, leaning him against the wall to have him support himself.

"Alright then," Séan said calmly to Illya..."kill 'em." handing him back his Makarov.


	9. Chapter 9

Napoleon Solo sauntered down a corridor in the London office of UNCLE after discreetly waiting a few days before finally appearing and heading in directly to the office of Harry Beldon.

Here in London the personnel walked past him, politely nodding to his presence as they continued on, busy with their own concerns. Unlike New York where one barely received any any such acknowledgement, unless they physically bumped into you...

His thoughts went to Elliott McGowan as he walked along the same grey halls that he was accustomed to in New York and he wondered what working in this office had been like for her? Knowing the fiery Irish temper she possessed and the staid temperament of the British; it must have made for an uncomfortable mix for all concerned. She had several strikes against her, being Irish and a woman functioning in an English environment where her working peers, both male and female looked on her with disdain and suspicion. It was no wonder the woman ended up with that big chip on her shoulder.

He remembered their first meeting in Paris, and how he had made his own presumptions about her... granted she had not helped the situation at the time. But he realized his making a pass at Elliott caused her attitude towards him and now after straightening things out between them; he understood why. He had never given it a thought of how difficult it would be for a woman to function as as an equal in a man's world, especially in one with the intrigue and subterfuge of the spy game.

Napoleon had been a little guilty of chauvinism; interacting with her at a less than professional level and not treating her with the respect that her position as an operative deserved...his male ego had not let him consider that she could have been a section two agent. Even if she had not been and was a section three instead...he still shouldn't have flirted with her. He had been there to do a job as was she and though it wasn't a high end assignment; he should have handled it with more professionalism and courtesy.

If he hadn't hit on Elliott, then she wouldn't have become so antagonistic. He had unknowingly added fuel to the fire of her temper...and now after the fact, once getting to know and understanding her a bit; he had not blamed her for acting the way she had in Paris and when they met again in New York.

Napoleon smiled a bit at that thought... of him not flirting with women? "No...not gonna happen," he smiled slightly, though he might have to make a point of reigning in his libido a bit, as it was after all, a changing world. Women were obviously moving into this, his man's world and he needed to adapt.

April Dancer had been the only female section two agent in the organization until Elliott had come along, and Solo had no trouble giving her the utmost of respect but he knew her well, both as a fellow agent but also personally, having had a relationship with her that no one else was aware of, not even Illya. So things were a little different because of their liaisons ...just as it now would be between Illya and Elliott.

The two women were very different; April used her charm, Elliott used her aggression. Napoleon remembered though that McGowan was very sexy in that costume. She had managed to get his partner into bed with her, so she was obviously, very much the alluring woman in spite of her tough demeanor.

Napoleon ended his musings as he walked up to the door of Harry Beldon's office. Each time he had been there, the decor always shocked him a bit, as most of the offices in UNCLE were stark and sterile. Harry on the other hand had his office decorated in an odd mix of old European decor with rather gaudy Greco-Roman statues placed in the corners of the room surrounded by several large palm and fern plants.

Harry was "decadent" as Illya had put it, wearing expensive Italian suits and shoes, though Solo had no problem with this...being in the espionage business did not mean one had to dress without taste.

But Harry Beldon was flamboyant, carrying a silver handled cane, wearing furs...and sometimes outrageous hats, covering that shaved head of his. Harry as did Napoleon, liked the women and was always in the presence of at least two beauties on both his arms...but even Napoleon operated with a greater sense of discretion than Beldon, who in his position of authority with UNCLE, should have been more prudent with his public image. Although the philosophy of not to "kiss and tell" was one he adhered to with the exception of his partner, Solo kept his assignations under control and did not flaunt them as did Harry Beldon.

Napoleon straightened his tie, running his palm along his hair, ensuring that it was neat as the door to Beldon's office opened silently.

"Napoleon!" Beldon greeted him enthusiastically" what brings you here..I was just speaking to Alex and he had not mentioned your presence in London and where is my Russian...surely you two are not apart?

Beldon kept a watchful eye on the comings and goings of agents and activities in his part of the world, and was always suspicious of anyone who showed up unannounced at his door, so to speak.

Napoleon shook hands with the man as he sat in front of his large ornately carved dark wood desk, that was surely an antique.

"Oh it was a last minute stop...I was heading to Rome, when the assignment stalled, so I thought a lay over here would be in order...haven't been here in a while. I decided I'd pay a visit to Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer.

"Now Illya is surprisingly enough on vacation. He's been burning the candle at both ends between our assignments and working in his lab...Mr. Waverly finally had to order him to take some time off before he simply dropped from exhaustion...you know Illya; he never knows when to give it up. I believe he is actually basking on a beach in the Virgin Islands, but I am sure with his nose buried in some sort of scientific publication." Napoleon lied so easily to Beldon.

'Yes Mr. Kuryakin apparently had not changed as he did that when he was here. I used to tell him that all work and no play makes Illya a dull boy. But I never could never get him to relax and enjoy some of the finer things in life. I'm afraid," said Beldon." that Soviet upbringing of his made him cringe when I suggested he learn to enjoy some of the amenities that western culture had to offer. My philosophy on life I think, made him uncomfortable at times and I'm sure that he was quite relieved to be transferred to New York. I am however pleased that he has done well for himself as an operative.

"Well I think it's easy to say he hasn't changed much!" Napoleon chuckled.

"I am afraid then Napoleon you have made a wasted trip my friend, as Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer are out on assignment in Istanbul, although they should be returning shortly. They are just wrapping up some lose ends..."

"How is your man Smythe doing? We had heard about that fiasco in France with that agent...what was her name...?" asked Solo.

"McGowan, Elliott Mc Gowan...dreadful woman. For the life of me, I cannot see how she was promoted to section two with that ridiculous temper of her. She was too volatile and impulsive to have been a good agent and was quite a disruptive presence here. We were well rid of her."

"Yes" Napoleon smiled" I heard she made a rather dramatic exit from UNCLE...what ever happened to her?"

"She seems to have fallen off the radar," answered Beldon" which could be problematic, as she was never properly de-trained. I only hope she does not show up working for the "competition?" Thrush, I'm sure would love to have an UNCLE agent on their payroll."

"You think she would do something like that?" asked Napoleon disguising his insider knowledge.

"Absolutely...Owen Smythe is convinced of that...he had quite a few run ins with her over the past few years and found her to be incompetent. The perfect candidate for Thrush!" Beldon let out a hearty laugh at his own musing.

"Is Owen available...I might want to have chat with him about her? It might be judicious to locate the woman and de-train her before she could engage herself with our feathered friends?" added Napoleon.

"Yes, that actually would be prudent now that you mention" said Beldon "Owen will be here this afternoon; I will have an appointment scheduled for you in his office."

"Thank you" smiled Napoleon" at least this will give me something to do instead of having made a wasted trip." He stood, again shaking hands with Beldon before leaving the office.

Napoleon disappeared back into the city, treating himself to lunch outside of headquarters at the Star Tavern on Belgrave Mews, just off of Belgrave Square, as the food was decent and the beer selection good.

The pub was surrounded by cottages that were originally stables of the nearby houses whose staff and servants the pub served. The exterior of the building with it's stained glass "star" windows was very picturesque. And little did people know now that this quaint establishment was however, a favored spot of both criminal and spy alike...and was considered "neutral" territory by them all. He'd run into his friend John Drake the last time he was there as well as a certain agent from British intelligence... Napoleon had heard at one point that the Great Train Robbery may have even been planned at the Star...so there was a sense of history with the place.

After leaving the pub, Napoleon headed out to the London office of INTERPOL as Elliott had requested. It had only a postal address of Marsham St. but like the offices of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, the location was not visible to the public and one had to know where to go.

McGowan still had some friends there and had contacted them about assisting with backup with the operation if needed, surreptitiously keeping London UNCLE out of the loop because of the possible traitor. Once her contacts had heard of the involvement of O'Duinn and his crew, they were in...that along with the promise that they would get credit for apprehending the I.R.A. members for their criminal activities.

Napoleon Solo had no problem with that, as cooperation between sister organizations happened frequently. Richard Reuter, the Thrush operative would belong to U.N.C.L.E. along with the satrap of course... they would let INTERPOL have their bone for their trouble.

At 3:00 he returned to headquarters for his meeting with Owen Smythe, and entered the agent's office precisely on time.

Smythe, a thin man with a pinched face, greeted him. "Hello Mr. Solo...it is indeed a pleasure to meet UNCLE's finest at last." he smiled. Napoleon took an instant dislike to him...the man's face reminded him of a rat.

Napoleon flashed him his famous smile " You flatter me, and please call me Napoleon?"

"I'm sorry Napoleon...to some of us in section two you are somewhat legendary."

"Suck up" Napoleon thought to himself.

"To what may I ask am I given the pleasure of your visit?" Smythe asked, indicating Solo to sit.

"I had actually come here to see April and Mark as my assignment in Rome had been delayed, so I decided to kill some time. They, I have since discovered are not here. Now an interesting point of conversation though, came up with Mr. Beldon and that was the topic of Elliott McGowan. Apparently she has never been de-trained by UNCLE...which could be problem?"

"McGowan...that bitch? She is one person that I am extremely thankful is gone from UNCLE!"

"And why is that?" asked Napoleon.

"She was completely incompetent and was showed consistent carelessness in her work! Her bungling of her last mission in France cost a man's life and destroyed over four months of hard earned intelligence gathering and she managed to do it all in one night!

"Sounds like there was no lost love lost on her," said Napoleon" I can understand that." Napoleon leaned forward on the desk toward Owen, lowering his voice as if someone were listening in on their conversation.

"Between you and me; I can't really stand the fact that they've started letting women into section two... don't get me wrong...I mean April is a nice lady and I like her a lot, but she doesn't belong in the field with men. It makes things too complicated for us and frankly after that nonsense with Elliott McGown...it has just proved my theory that women just can't handle the job"

"Thank you Napoleon for saying that" responded Smythe" as that is my sentiment exactly!"

Napoleon leaned even closer toward Smythe. "You and I are of like minds I think... I don't know about you but if this is the direction UNCLE is going; then I think my time with the organization will be ending soon. Let's face it, I've been out in the field busting my ass and risking my life for a long time and all for what? A pittance of a pay check and now having to put up with women agents who'll probably get me killed? No thank you! I have to tell I'm thinking about going rogue; there will certainly be better money in it and definitely no women agents to put up with and I'd be my own boss."

Smythe looked at Solo...hesitating before he responded. "Do you have any plans for this evening? I think you and I need to talk, perhaps you could meet me for drinks at the Audley Pub?

"What do you have in mind?"asked Solo.

"Not here Napoleon, we'll talk later."

Later that evening Napoleon met Smythe at the Audley Pub over on Mount Street, situated on a street neatly lined on either side with brick buildings of varying color and architecture and not located far from the American Embassy. The pub was often filled with "Yanks" as the Americans were called. The Audley was a magnificent pink tiled watering hole with an ornate plaster ceiling hung with crystal chandeliers...not exactly a discreet place for two spies to sit and have a private conversation?" Napoleon thought as he walked in.

He found Smythe sitting at the rear of the pub in a back booth; he had a drink in his hand and there was another glass sitting on the table.

Solo slipped onto the bench opposite him.

"I took the liberty of ordering a single malt scotch for you," Owen said.

"Thanks " answered Napoleon as he raise the glass to Smythe before he took a sip. It was strong, with a smokey flavor that hit the front of the tongue and lingered."

Napoleon leaned forward again, speaking in a low voice to Owen. "So what did you want to talk to me about?" he asked.

"As you said...you and I are of like minds. I feel as you do that UNCLE is no longer a good organization to work for; I myself am in the process of segueing to a better situation...tell me Napoleon, how do you really feel about THRUSH?"

Solo acted a little surprised at the blunt question put to him.

"Honestly...I don't think they're quite a bad as UNCLE leads us to think they are... and I know they definitely pay better," he snickered, "I mostly have issue with some of the "kooks" they align themselves with now and again, more than anything." Solo laughed, "I hear they have good benefits and a retirement plan." He lied, knowing full well that Thrush gave all their retirees a gold watch and a bullet to the head.

Smythe leaned closer towards Solo, prefacing his words by looking around carefully before he spoke again.

"I am taking a big chance here telling you this...but I have a good feeling about you. I am involved in an operation with Thrush that will make me a very wealthy man and will change the face of the world for the better. They realize that the current political situation in the world, take the United States and The Soviet Union for instance, needs to be brought under control before it's too late and they have come up with something to do it. Imagine no more international rivalries and conflict? They have discovered a way of controlling it all...and not with violence. Imagine that, a peaceful end to all the world's aggressions?"

"This is what the are on the verge of doing and we as spies will be out of business once it happens. So I'm working on a new and more lucrative form of employment, thinking proactively instead of re-actively, before things do change. I was wondering, a man of your obvious abilities and talents might you be interested in getting involved?"

"Bingo" Napoleon smiled, thinking to himself." Control was the operative word here." But he wasn't going to jump on the man now; he would bide his time in hopes that Smythe would somehow reveal the location of the new lab.

"You know what Owen?" Solo reached out offering Smythe his hand. "That sounds like a great plan to me, what do I need to do?"

"Smythe was not a complete fool and remained just a little cautious of Solo." I need to speak to my contact first. I just wanted to be sure you were interested before I said anything to him."

The two agents had a couple more drinks then parted for the evening; Napoleon returning to his hotel for the night, opting not to seek out any female companionship for the evening. He changed into a pair of silk pajamas then as he settled into his bed his communicator chirped.

"Solo here."

"Any thing happening yet?" It was the voice of his partner.

"Hello to you to..."

"Napoleon...yes hello," said Illya?

Illya's voice sounded uncharacteristically stressed. "Are you O.K?"

"I am" he corrected," we are fine and have just made contact with Ó Dúinn and his people. Elliott was correct in her estimation of them; they are a very dangerous crowd.

" I was afraid of that...look I just had a very enlightening conversation with Smythe, tell Elliott she was correct there too. He has definitely turned traitor, I'm going to bide my time with him as he is involved somehow with their development of the mind control substance. I may be able to get him to reveal the location of the lab. So you take it easy and don't put yourselves in any more danger than you have to. If I find out where the lab is before you do, then you two get yourselves out of harm's way post haste until I can get Elliot's friends from INTERPOL over for the raid. Alright?"

"Understood. Kuryakin out" answered the Russian.


	10. Chapter 10

Illya Kuryakin had no choice as he slowly took the weapon from Séan Óg's hand, then aimed it towards the man he had just been instructed to kill. Elliott stood beside him, not flinching but holding her breath from the moment the Russian had raised the gun. She looked at Illya's blue eyes and saw a detemined coldness in them and she only hoped that no one saw the panic that she suspected was in her own.

The drunk suddenly changed, straightening himself, going instantly from being a staggering drunkard to a man now standing tall and completely sober.

"Ye are not going to git away with this Ó Dúinn!" the man warned with a very nasal Northern Irish accent to his voice.

"Who is he?" Illya asked, stalling for a moment of time.

"He's RUC."

"A copper?" mumbled Kuryakin.

"Tá...anois, cad atá iad ag feisigh thú ag fanacht! A dheánamh air! Mharú dó!_ Yes... now what are ye feckin' waiting for? Do him! Kill him!" Séan Óg ordered him in Irish.

"Yeah! Do him ye git!" yelled Fiona "Or do ye want me to do yer little sister here?" the woman suddenly aimed a pistol at Elliott.

"Níl aon ghá don sin_there's no need for that." Illya answered as he suddenly flicked the safety off on the Makarov and without hesitation, fired two shots into the man's chest. There was barely a sound as there was a suppressor on Illya's weapon. The impact of the bullets sent the man's body flying backward against the wall with a thud, then collapsing face down in a puff of dust as it impacted the debris covered warehouse floor.

Terrence walked over to the body of the policeman and rolling him over; he saw two large red patches on the the man's chest...he appeared not to be breathing.

"Is marbh é_ he's dead." he pronounced pointing his own weapon to the man's head as he stood, preparing to add a bullet, execution style.

"Stop!" Illya called" Ye have no silencer, do ye want the cops cumin' down on us?"

"Is cuma liom, Is bruscar é seo anois_ I don't care, he's trash now!" he gave the body a kick a vicious kick."Feckin' RUC! " he cursed.

"Terrence! " yelled Séan," knock it off, Séamie's right! We don't need the cops!"

Séan Óg clapped Illya on the back with his hand, grinning," That was bloody great! Good man ye are! " Séan turned to the rest of them, "Alright, ye's be back here on Tuesday night at half-seven and we'll take it from there. Now everyone scatter...before the peelers show up!"

'Wait!" said Illya " I want some thin' fairst," as he bent over the corpse. He dug into the man's pockets, pulling out his wallet, a twenty pound note, and some coins, then he took his watch as well. They did not see as the Russian jabbed a small needle into the man's neck.

"Robbin' the dead are ye?" said Séan Óg," maith fear_ good man!" he laughed."Right now, off we go lads! Amarách ansin_tomorrow then! Imigh libhse_off with ye's!"

Terrence passed Illya his other two guns and knife and then they all took off into the darkness down the lane. Illya and Elliott ran the opposite direction of the others and as they passed an alley, Illya suddenly grabbed her by the arm dragging her into the safety of it's walls.

"Jay-sus, Mary and Joseph...and Patrick too! What did you do...you feckin' killed a cop?" she practically growled at him, catching her breath.

"Elliott? " he answered, almost shocked at her tone" Nyet! He is not dead!" The Russian popped the clip out of his Makarov. "Spatter rounds with tranquilizers." he smiled.

"Oh thank God!" she whispered.

"Look," Illya said,"we have to go back and get him. I injected his neck with an extra tranquilizer but eventually he will wake. It will do us no good if he is seen getting up and walking about Belfast, enh?"

The two agents returned to the warehouse, and after ensuring all was clear; they cleaned the unconscious man up. Called a cab, loaded him into it and paid the driver to take him to Dublin to the address Illya had written down on a piece of paper. It was the address of the UNCLE field office located there.

After the cabbie sped off with his fare and a generous tip, Illya contacted Dublin telling them to expect the delivery and to plant a story in the Northern newspapers reporting the murder of a Royal Ulster Constabulary police officer." he pulled open the man's wallet checking his identification," named James Hickey on this date at Upper Church Lane in Belfast City...a suspected execution style murder by the I.R.A." then he added," Mr Hickey is not to be released until you have my authorization."

Then Illya and Elliott retrieved their instruments from Bittle's Bar, heading back to their bed and breakfast a few block over to sleep together, yet alone.

"I'm wrecked" Elliott said,climbing into her bed.

"What does wrecked mean...I do not understand the context? Illya asked.

"Oh it means I'm tired," she answered, yawning.

"Wrecked means you are tired...knackered means you are tired...the Irish version of English is very confusing...Gaelic, Shelta and now how the Irish speak English. I am good with languages...but Elliott even this is a bit too much for me to absorb?" he smiled.

She laughed as did the Russian...it was the first time he had done that since they arrived in Ireland. "Well there's no way I can teach ye all the slang and there's a lot...we'll muddle through, not ta worry." she smiled "Ye are doin' well enough as it is. All that counts is they think ye are a native...so far, so good."

Illya then pulled out his communicator "Open Channel D-Solo." contacting Napoleon to let him know they had finally found Ó Dúinn. His partner filled him in on the good news about Smythe. It was a brief conversation between the two of them.

"You heard?" he asked Elliot, who was laying in bed with her eyes closed.

"Yes...but it's not enough just to know" she sat up, facing him," Smythe needs ta get what's comin' to him, not only for what he did to me, but more so for Jean Paul," she said angrily," and I want ta be the one who makes sure he gets it!"

Illya sat on the bed beside her, taking her hand into his, "Elliott" he whispered," I know you have been hurt by this man, but you should not hold onto your anger, as revenge will cloud your judgement. There is a Russian saying, Poshel za shert' yu no vernsulsya strizhenyí."

"Went to get wool but returned sheared?" she translated, not understanding the meaning.

"Meaning that if planning revenge, dig two graves" he answered bluntly, but gently stroking her face with his other hand. "Now get some sleep Annushka?" He kissed the back of her hand then placing it under the blanket; went alone to his own bed.

At a quarter past seven in the evening, Illya waited outside the entrance to Bittle's Bar, leaning with his back against the brick wall, his hands in his pockets with one leg bent and his foot against the wall. His tweed cap pulled low over his brow as he peeked out from under the brim. He took a long drag from the "Silk Cut" cigarette that had been hanging from his mouth, then dropped it on the side walk, snuffing it out with his boot. Elliott was already inside the pub waiting for the Séan and his people to arrive.

"Hey gi' us a fag?" Illya suddenly heard the voice of Fiona as she stepped up towards him.

Illya pulled out the pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and handed them to her along with a box of matches without saying a word. She pulled one out, lit up then pushed the pack back into his pocket, leaning her hands against his chest.

"So are ye always this quiet?" she whispered to him.

Illya shrugged, not looking her in the eyes but then the woman suddenly grabbed his chin forcing him to make eye contact. "Ye have nice eyes." she smiled," then suddenly drove her lips against his, kissing him hard.

Illya pulled his face away not responding to her but she pursued his lips kissing him again, then stopped suddenly laughing at him; Fiona walked away disappearing into the pub and once inside, she threw herself down onto the bench in the booth next to Elliott.

"That brother of yers...is he shy with the women then, or not?"

"What?

"Yer brother is he a goer?" she asked, meaning did he sleep around?

Elliott stiffened at the question" My brother is half a bubble off true...he's a real header."

"Yeah so he's a bit crazy but is he a good lay?" Fiona insisted on asking.

"Jay-sus woman...do ye think I feckin' know? I don't sleep with me brother? Be whist and just stay away from him Fiona, he's trouble...and I don't think yer own brother would want him ta lose the head ye know? I can't say it any plainer...he's mental!"

"Go outta that!" laughed Fiona not believing Elliott, then she suddenly pulled a switchblade ramming it into the wooden table." and don't tell me to shut up again!"

"Look Fiona whether ye believe me or not; I'm just trying to tell ye that me brother is a real chancer, a real risky character that's all. So don't get yer knickers in a twist alright?"

Terrence came into the pub, surveying the scene, followed by Séan, Illya then Fiach. They all sat at the booth with the exception of Terrence who remained at the door arms crossed, standing watch.

Sean threw a copy of the Belfast Telegraph on the table in front of Illya with a smile. "Well there's no for it now lad, ye made the papers." Kuryakin picked it up, reading the front page headline." RUC man found murdered at Upper Church Street..." then dropped it back on the table, unconcerned..

"We have some business to attend to tonight."Séan announced quietly.

"Ah Séan, I'm gummin' right now, can't we have a couple of jars fairst? Fiach asked wanting to have some pints." I have a thirst on me."

"Ní chruthófai deis_not a chance!" Séan growled", we're going ta do some work tonight. I'll not have any of ye's bolloxed!" No one is gonna be drinkin' am I clear?"

"Aye Séan" they all answered.

They left the pub following Terrence down to the far end of the lane, to a grey Vauxhall Vicktor four-door car that was parked next to the kerb. "Here's the jammer," he said.

"Ye are gonna have us travelin' in a stolen car?" exclaimed Elliott.

"Don't ye worry yer pretty little ginger head," said Terrence, giving her the look over and smiling at her in such a way that it gave her the chills.

They all climbed into the car and with Terrence behind the wheel and drove down the road heading out on Upper Church Lane to Victoria Square then on towards Newtownards Road to their destination on Connswater Street; the trip taking them just about a half hour.

Illya noticed they travelled through a working class area, the streets lined with warehouses and shops whose storefronts were all closed; protected by heavy metal gates, as well as rows of red brick houses with the Union Jack flying in front of them. All the buildings were simple, contemporary structures devoid of any personality.

When they arrived Terrence parked the car along the side of Newtownards Road, around the corner from Connswater. Séan stepped out of the vehicle, opening the boot, revealing a treasure trove of explosive devises.

"We hit the RUC barracks on Connswater... Shéamie, ye know what to do with these roight?" he said to Illya.

Tuigim_I understand," Illya answered him in Irish, reaching into the trunk of the car and quickly examining the supply of plastic explosives, detonators and timers.

Illya cast a quick glance at Elliott as he gathered the the explosives and began taking his time as he began to assemble the bombs, while the others blocked any view of him as he worked out of the trunk.

"Do ye think we...Fiona and I should scout out ahead, make sure the coast is clear?" asked Elliott.

"Aye go ahead then, that's a grand idea." Séan told them.

Elliott and Fiona walked down the street then turning left onto Connswater Street. Once at the corner, Elliot told Fiona to wait there and keep an eye out while she walked further on toward the barracks. When she was out of sight; she pulled out her communicator. "Channel D Solo" she spoke quietly.

"Elliott?" Napoleon answered," is everything alright?"

"Napoleon, we're got a problem here. The Ó Dúinns keep testing ta see if we're legitimate. They're going ta have Illya place explosives at the Connswater RUC barracks in Belfast...it's a police training center... there's could be a fair number of people here who'll get hurt unless we give them a heads up. Napoleon we have to get them to evacuate discreetly, other wise our cover could be blown. Can you make the call...we have to get them to hide. If Ó Dúinn sees them, he'll know they were tipped off?"

"How long have I got?."

"Ten minutes at best, I'm sure Illya is tryin' ta stall. Please hurry Napoleon?"

"Consider it done."Solo out.

Elliott watched as a few minutes later about twenty five men came running out the barracks doors, disappearing into the darkness a few hundred yards down the road. She let go a sigh of relief then headed back to where Fiona waited." All clear up the road, everything good here?" she said to her.

"Aye," answered the dark haired woman.

They headed back to the car, just as Illya had finished assembling the bombs.

"All's clear!" Fiona announced.

They headed up the dark road, it was a clear night and a half moon brightened the sky, giving them just enough light to see their way. Terrence followed Illya, making sure the way was indeed clear as Fiona had said. They approached the building placing the two bombs against the front walls. Illya set the timers for ten minutes then he and Terrence took off at a dead run, meeting their companions in the shadows as they stood lookout with their weapons drawn.

They all took off toward the car and were far down Newtownards Road when they heard the double explosions. A cheer and whoops filled the car as it sped away. Illya glanced at Elliott with a worried eye but she winked to him, leaning over pretending to hug him, she whispered" they got out." Illya suppressed a smile.

Several miles and numerous turns later, Terrence pulled the car up in front of a small red brick house." Get out," he told them," we're here."

"And what exactly is here?" asked Elliot," as they walked toward the building, nearly identical to all the other houses on the lane.

"It's our safe house."declared Séan, as he unlocked the door and they piled into the kitchen. Elliott and Fiona set about making food as they were expected to immediately pulling out pans and pots. They made a fry of sausages, potatoes and eggs for the lads as well as a strong pot of coffee all in about twenty minutes.

When the meal was done, Fiach put on the telly and immediately called to the others. "Oi! It's on the news already! Come see!"

This is BBC television UTV, bringing you this late breaking story. Good evening, this is Adrienne Mc Gill reporting. This news just in...The training barracks of the Royal Ulster Constabulary at Connswater Street in Belfast, County Antrim were destroyed this evening by dual explosions. The bombs bearing the trademarks of the I.R.A. went off at about ten o'clock p.m. There were no casualties as all personnel were out on an evening training misson. No wittness have come forward and the RUC is asking at this time for anyone with information to contact them immediately. As of this reporting no one has taken credit for the late night bombing...this has been the fifth in a series of bombings that continue to rock the North of Ireland that have been linked... In an official statement, Sinn Féin denys..."

Séan flicked the televison off in annoyance."Jay-sus Chroist!" he swore, of all nights for them to be out on a feckin' training mission! Shite!Shite!Shite!" he cursed, then stormed up to one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Elliott glanced at Illya with a look of satisfaction in her eye, then asked where she would be sleeping. My room is upstairs to the right"said Fiona," there's a cúpla of mattresses in there on the floor. Then Fiona suddenly grabbed Illya by the hand. "Come on Séamie, I'll show ye where ye'll sleep." she said, leading Illya to a room at the end of the downstairs hallway.

She pushed him through the open door then shut and locked it behind her.

"What are ye doin' Fiona? " Illya asked her, stepping away from the woman nervously.

"What do ye think?" she smiled at him seductively.

"And what if I told ye I am not interested?" he said, continuing to walk backwards slowly as she came towards him.

"Well then..."she pulled out her switchblade snapping it open," I'm just going to have to hurt yer wee sister if ye don't give me what I want..."

Illya stared at her, his blue eyes hardened with anger." If you touch her Fiona, I will kill you." for a brief second he lost his Irish accent.

"Better men have tried boy-o" she snarled "and if ye hurt me, then my brother kills her and you!" she smiled viciously, then dove up into Illya's arms, wrapping her legs and arms around him as she kissed him, holding the knife at his throat.

The Russian hit the edge of the bed and fell backwards on top of it with Fiona on top of him and before he realized it,she had pulled off her blouse, exposing her ample breasts. She lowered them to his face...and Illya knew then he would have to do what he did not want to and that was have sex with Fiona. She had thrown down her body like a gauntlet, and he had no choice but to accept it, if he did not, Elliott...and he could die. But less importantly to him at the moment...he could not risk breaking cover, now that they were getting closer to finding the location of the satrap.

His thoughts went to Elliott and felt a pain inside him...he had to betray the feelings he had for her in order to save her life. Illya put his mouth to one of Fiona's it breasts, then he bit none too gently and Fiona let out a groan of pleasure.

They finally removed their clothes and the Russian mounted her, giving it to her hard and fast, the way she wanted it; taking out his anger and frustration at being forced into the act. He got it over with quickly as he had not cared about pleasing her. When he was spent he dropped to his side on the bed, turning his back to Fiona, who got up and walked away laughing at him. She dressed herself and left him alone.

Elliott had gone upstairs to the bedroom suspecting what was about to happen between Fiona and Illya...she felt empty inside. The woman in her told her he could have stopped it...the agent in her told her that it was necessary to maintain their cover. After all an agent must do must what need be done to accomplish the mission...if that was true, then why did she feel so awful. Illya had made her no promises other than he would make love to her again...there were no vows of fidelity from him, but that thought made her feel no better.

Fiona walked into the bedroom fifteen minutes later, looking quite satisfied. "Well I can tell ye now that yer brother can at least screw...but to tell ye the truth, I've had much better...just thought ye'd like ta know." Fiona taunted her.

Elliott rolled to her side on the bed turning her back to the woman, hiding her tears.

The next morning Illya and Elliott were informed that they were going to meet the boss of the operation. Illya showered but was unable to shave as he had none of his travel things with him as they were back at the bed and breakfast. Elliott took her turn in the bath as they all did then when coming downstairs, she avoided eye contact with the Russian.

"So welcome to the club a bhuachaill_boy." whispered Fiach "so Fiona had at ye too?"

Illya nodded, but said nothing.

"Bheul, watch yerself Séamie...Terrence won't like it if ye try doin' her again. They have this "kinky" sorta thing goin' on...best not to pursue her, right?"

"Tanks" Illya muttered, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Where we goin'?" Illya then asked Séan, hoping it was to the satrap.

"Up to the North,"answered Séan." ye'll know soon enough when the boss give us the O.K."

Fiona seemed to be ignoring Illya now, much to his relief, and assumed that she had gotten what she wanted and now no longer had any further interest in him... that he at least hoped.

And after a small breakfast that the two women prepared, they loaded up into the car and blind folds were put over the two agents eyes as the sat together in the back of the car.

Illya reached out grasping Elliott's hand; giving it a squeeze as the car started and drove off taking them to their mysterious destination.


	11. Chapter 11

Napoleon hit the "proverbial" brick wall as Owen Smythe would be out in the field for the next week, keeping Solo dangling as to when he would get the opportunity to meet Smythe's Thrush contacts.

Waverly had instructed him to find out if Smythe was indeed the traitor and Solo was able to uncover that truth with ease...almost too easily he thought. There were some concerns that if the British UNCLE agent had indeed proved to be a traitor; then he may have sway over others among the UNCLE ranks who were equally duplicitous.

Napoleon had decided to string the turn coat agent along in hopes of finding anyone else who might fit in with the current conspiracy theory, given what happened in Marseilles. Napoleon was convinced as well as Alexander Waverly was; that Smythe may have had some sort of assistance...

Though it was Elliott and Illya's assignment to find the Thrush lab; Solo had it in his mind try to discover it's whereabouts as well, as he was deeply concerned for their safety, given the temperament of the crowd they were now embedded with. His thought was that if he found out the satrap location first, then they could at least make a fast retreat out of harm's way until the final raid. This concern had become foremost in his mind now as Napoleon had begun to have an uneasy feeling in his gut; his instincts telling him that something bad was about to happen. But now with Smythe out of the picture temporarily he had no recourse but to sit back, waiting nervously in hopes that Kuryakin and McGowan would be alright.

Solo was soon to discover that he had made a tactical error, underestimating Smythe's gullibility in the plan of action he had formulated to snare the man.

Napoleon had gone back into headquarters to at least research any known friends and associates in UNCLE that Smythe had frequent contact with; making them possible candidates for involvement in his schemes with Thrush. He had decided to spend the day looking through personnel records; a tedious job that no one could help him with, but at least it was something constructive to do in Smythe's absence. He had considered bringing April and Mark into the loop but they had still not returned yet from Istanbul.

Napoleon had just walk in to headquarters through the agent's entrance at the London office, when he was suddenly asked politely by the receptionist to put his weapons and communicator in the bin she had placed on top of the security desk. He complied without question putting both his monogrammed UNCLE special and his backup .22 in the bin, followed by his pen. He found the request odd though and asked the woman what was going on?

It was at that moment two rather burly security agents stepped into the reception area. "Excuse us Mr. Solo, if you would be so good as to accompany us and no trouble please.?" They held their own weapons drawn and aimed directly at him.

"Excuse me?" Solo was taken completely off guard, not comprehending what was happening.

"Sir you are being taken into custody...now please follow us? the security agent repeated.

Napoleon crinkled his nose in annoyance, then raised his hands in front of him in full cooperation. "So is someone going to explain to me what this is all about? He then added calmly," You know... I don't think this is going to happen gentlemen!" Solo then lashed out at one of the agents, surprising him with a karate chop to the neck. But just as he had relieved the agent of his weapon; Napoleon was pistol-whipped by the the man's partner and he slumped to the floor unconscious.

He awoke alone with a nasty headache, sitting on an uncomfortable metal chair in what he recognized as an UNCLE interrogation room, staring across the table at the two-way mirror on the wall opposite him. He reached up, rubbing the back of his head with his hand and found dried blood caked to his scalp.

"Hello?" he called out, looking at the mirror," Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on here?" He rose carefully, walking toward the mirror, nearly pressing his nose to the glass, the proceeded to the only door to the room, trying the handle and finding it locked. Napoleon quickly searched his lapel for his lock-pick; he found he had been relieved of it along with the rest of his UNCLE gadgetry.

Solo returned to his chair at the table and sat with his arms crossed in a huff, staring again at the two way mirror, waiting for someone to finally put in an appearance.

The door to interrogation at last opened and Harry Beldon stepped in.

"Oh thank God, Harry... can you tell me why I was brought in here?" he asked in frustration..

"Oh you don't know why?" said Beldon, clicking his tongue several times," please Napoleon, don't take me for such a fool! You know very well the reason why you are here!"

"Nooo...there you are completely wrong!" Solo answered with obvious annoyance in his voice. "Harry, I don't know what kind of game is being played here. It's plain to me that you know something that I don't know...so enlighten me will you please?" he said rather succinctly.

Harry Beldon flicked a switch on small console atop the table in front of him and suddenly Napoleon heard a recording begin to play over a speaker mounted on the wall...it was his own voice and he recognized it as pieces of the conversations he had with Owen Smythe in his office and at the Audley Pub."

"I'm thinking about going rogue...Thrush...I don't think they're quite as bad as UNCLE... sounds like a great plan...what do I need to do." There was no denying they were his words and Solo realized hearing them taken out of context; they sounded rather incriminating.

"So having thoughts of aligning yourself with Thrush are you?" smiled Beldon.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me Harry?" Napoleon moaned."This was part of a special investigation I've been sent on by Waverly...I'm not going to betray UNCLE...someone else is or rather, has already!"

"I think not Napoleon...Owen came to me immediately after your meeting with him in his office, informing me of your attitude toward Thrush as well as your intention to join Thrush, so don't try to twist it around to deflect the issue away from yourself! It is you in fact who have incriminated yourself in your own words. It is irrefutable, we have you on tape...your words are damning."

"No Harry, you're got it all wrong...that was part of my ruse to flush out Smythe. He is the traitor, not me and we need to continue to investigate to find if there are any others who are in it with him! That report on the Marseilles incident made by him was a sham! He was complicit in that whole mess and framed agent McGowan...Harry, listen to the recording carefully... it's Owen who is the one admitting to it, not me. I was going along with him to find out information vital to a black ops case that is currently in progress."

"And what is exactly this operation, Mr. Solo?" asked Beldon.

Napoleon, remembering Illya's words of caution about Beldon's possible involvement, refused to tell him the details.

"That's on a need to know basis...and you really don't need to know. You just have to trust me and let me out of here? We have to get hold of Smythe; he obviously knows that I was onto him; the lives of the other agents involved our operation could be endangered!"

Beldon laughed out loud. "Ha! You really expect me to believe that? You have incriminated yourself completely and we have enough evidence to send you to the UNCLE prison facility in Antarctica...permanently! I'm afraid you're not going to be able to sweet talk your way out of this one Mr. Solo."

Beldon got up out of his seat and headed out of the door without another word and Napoleon slammed his fist on the table in frustration...

"Call Waverly!" he yelled after Beldon then paused,"SSShit..." he mumbled to himself.

The Vauxhall Victor pulled up to their final destination at Cave Hill, north of Belfast City, moving up slowly along the long dive to Belfast Castle.

It was a stately structure built in the Scottish Baronial style similar to that of Balmoral Castle. The castle and the estate had been presented to the city of Belfast in 1934 and had mainly been used for weddings and as well as being minor tourist attraction until when recently it had been closed for renovations. Parts of the castle was protected by a stone wall adjoining a round tower that stood at one corner...the wall itself was quite long running the length of the drive leading up to a round-about that encircled a fountain at the front of the property. A long winding staircase lead up to the the back of the building. The entire building was a visible, yet invisible to prying eyes, as no one went there high up on the hill and given that it was 400 feet above sea level; there was no clear view of the goings on there from the city below.

Richard Reuter saw it as an opportunity and after money changed hands with the city; Belfast Castle became the new location for the Thrush lab. The manufacturing of the refined Mind Control drug was now well under way and they would soon begin to make their first delivery to Thrush Central.

Cave Hill was distinguished by a well known feature called "Napoleon's Nose" which was a basaltic outcrop that resembled the profile of the famous emperor. The irony of this was not lost on Illya Kuryakin and he hoped it was a good omen, as Séan Óg shared his knowledge of the castle and the estate with pride to his Pavee recruits, Séamie and his sister Nuala Ó Gorman.

Illya and Elliott were shown to their rather elegant rooms on the third floor and were instructed to wait there until summoned to meet the "big boss". Illya was convinced they were now at the satrap and once he and Elliott had confirmed his suspicions and verified the location of the lab; Napoleon Solo and the cavalry from INTERPOL would be summoned and the Mind Control Affair would be brought to a long over due conclusion. He tried contacting Napoleon but for some reason, his partner did not answer and Illya was not happy about it.

Though they were both warned to say in their rooms by Séan Óg until called; Elliott walked cautiously out into the carpeted hall down to Illya's door, rapping on it gently in a code they had arranged.

She found the Russian sitting on his bed with his communicator in hand, as if he had just used it...she felt a bit of awkward as she walked over towards him.

"Hi..." he said to her hint of nervousness in his voice.

"Hi yerself." she answered tentatively.

"Annushka...Illuysha" they spoke at the same time.

"No...ye go first." Elliott insisted.

Illya ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke, "I am sorry that you had to see that..." It was obvious that he was uncomfortable talking about it.

"No...don't Illya, she suddenly interrupted, not letting him finish." It's alright. I understand. I know that we do what we must for the sake of the mission."

"No Elliott...he whispered, "I did it for your sake...Fiona threatened to kill you if I did not let her..." he paused, now embarrassed," have her way."

Elliott went to him, placing two fingers against his lips "shush...no 's done is done...and it may not be the last time...I know that now. Let's agree not to speak of it again...there are some secrets that should be kept hidden...my love?" She sat down on the bed beside him.

"He smiled when she said that to him, and that moment he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but refrained.

"Annushka, YA dumayu, chto ya vlyublen v tebya_I think that I am in love with you." he whispered to her, stumbling over the words as he spoke them to her.

"And I you Illuysha," she spoke softly to him, placing her hand to his chest.

Illya finally wrapped his arms around Elliott and held her close to him, their eyes met and the two kissed gently as they remained in each others arms.

Illya finally broke the moment..."duty calls, moya sladkoya_my sweet." as he released her from his arms, picking up his communicator from the bed. I have tried to contact Napoleon several times without success and am becoming concerned."

He tried to contact his partner tried one more time. "Open Channel D- Solo" he spoke. but again there was nothing but static. Kuryakin's instincts told him there was something wrong, as Napoleon Solo would not cut off communications in the middle of an investigation, especially one as dangerous as this one.

Illya sighed, then made a decision."Channel D- overseas relay-Waverly"

"Mr. Kuryakin? It was my understanding there was to be a communications blackout?"

"Yes sir, I know. But there seems to be a problem as I am unable to contact Mr. Solo. We are I suspect at the satrap location in Belfast Castle, north of the city."

"That is most disconcerting. I will look into the matter and get back to you. Please show the utmost caution. Waverly Out."

"Well that does it...we may be done for." said Elliott. "If something has happened to Napoleon, then we've lost the INTERPOL assistance, as we have no way of contacting them. And without backup..." Elliott's thoughts went immediately to that night in the raid in Marseilles...no back up and a disaster that took the life of her partner.

"we are so screwed. I'll not take the chance and let this turn into another Marseilles..." she said," We may have to abort the mission."

"Not yet," said Illya"...give Waverly some time to find out what happened to Napoleon. We may have to retreat and regroup, but we are not out of luck yet. Now you need to get back to your room before we are discovered." He kissed Elliott on the forehead, then she disappeared from the room.

A half hour later Fiona appeared, slithering into Illya's room, and instantly the Russian's stomach tied up into a knot.

"Pretty posh digs enh?" she said as she strolled around his room slowly running her fingers along the furniture." So how are ye feeling about last night?" she whispered, smiled wickedly.

"The words loathe and disgust come to mind." he quipped.

Fiona let out a little laugh."Better not let Terrence hear about it...he has quite a fancy for me ye know...if he hears that ye had yer way with me..."

"Having my way with you, Fiona?" Illya snarled at her and with his anger, his accent disappeared." it was more like you raping me! So what do you want now...to rape me again? You know that when a person is forced into an unwilling sex act with another...it is rape...?" Illya spoke the words coldly to her.

"Fiona laughed out loud. "Don't flatter yerself ye little squint. Ye are not half the man that Terrence is...

"Lucky me," the Russian mumbled.

Fiona pulled her knife, using the blade to clean around one of her fingernails as she spoke." Ye should consider yerself lucky...I don't give every man a go ye know!"

"Why do I find that hard to believe Fiona?" Illya smiled wryly.

She laughed at him again then left and Illya wondered if her threat about Terrence was true or made purely to keep him on edge...which unfortunately did. Terrence was rather a disgusting man and he couldn't quite picture even the likes of Fiona, as demented as she was, with the likes of him and Illya had enough things to worry about without adding Terrence coming after him. But for the moment he dismissed his concerns and went straight back to the task of trying to contact Napoleon.

Richard Reuter relaxed in one of the elegant sitting rooms of Belfast Castle; elegantly appointed with rich tapestries, carpeting, and heavy draperies. The furniture was French provincial in style and created an interesting contrast to the architecture. He was decidedly pleased with himself at his choice of locations; this one was far superior to the last one in Marseilles.

Sitting opposite him was the agent Owen Smythe, who was cradling a snifter of brandy in his hand.

"I think that UNCLE may be onto me...Napoleon Solo was snooping around asking questions about that bitch McGowan and I'm sure he was trying to flush me out...it may be time for me to cut my ties with UNCLE...but I took care of Solo," he smiled," I set him up to look like a traitor!"he smiled.

There was a knock at the the door, and Séan Ó Dúinn walked him with his hat in his hands.

'Ah Sean!" said Reuter." This is Owen Smythe, another of my associates.. Owen, this is Séan Ó Dúinn, the leader of one of the local I.R.A. splinter groups who has decided to assist us with our operation. I have agreed to supply him with arms as well as a portion of the mind control drug. What better place than Northern Ireland...a virtual powder keg waiting to explode, to inaugurate Thrush's great plan for straightening out this chaotic world of ours.

Even though Smythe had given himself whole hearted to Thrush's dogma; he still bristled at the sight of someone he considered an Irish terrorist.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Mr. Reuter. I've brought along two of me "traveler" relations to help with the operation...if that's alright with ye?"

"You brought them here without asking me first!" snapped Reuter.

"I didn't think ye'd mind, seeing as how they're me own people, ye know."

"Well I do mind!" Reuter paused,"What's done is done, but in the future you speak with me first Mr.Ó Dúinn. I'll meet them at supper time; if they are not to my liking then..." Reuter gestured with his thumb running across his throat.

Sean swallowed nervously. "Aye then ...no problem."

Various agents from Security visited Solo in interrogation over the next three days; keeping him awake, depriving him of sleep the entire time. They would let him nod off, then suddenly awaken him, questioning him over and over; looking for the names of any co-conspirators that he may have infected with his traitorous attitude.

Finally when it was deemed Solo could not hold out much longer, Harry Beldon returned, asking but a single question."Where is Illya Kuryakin?"

Napoleon was now in a haze; the lack of sleep clawing at his spirit and he felt unsteady; having only one desire...to fall asleep; even more so than his need for food and water.

Harry repeated the question in a soft, soothing voice this time...

"Where is Illya, Napoleon...is he alright?"

Napoleon stuttered. "I...I ... he's alright...vacation...Virgin Islands." he slurred his words.

"Now we know that isn't true Napoleon,"crooned Beldon," where is your friend Illya...he might need help you know...he could be in danger?"

Napoleon mumbled "danger?" then spoke only one other word before he passed out...

"Ireland."

Harry Beldon smiled then left, giving instructions to his Security people to take Solo to a holding cell, elsewhere in the building.


	12. Chapter 12

Séan Óg sent Terrence upstairs to fetch Séamus and Nuala for they would be needed downstairs; it getting close to suppertime and the introduction to the boss, Mr. Reuter.

Elliott had been keeping a watchful eye on Terrence from the get go; being aware of his lecherous stares as he undressed her with his eyes. He had not bothered her as Fiona had done so to Illya and was thankful for not having to deal with the man, but she was sure eventually he would try making a move on her. He was a hairy thing, half of his teeth were rotten and he stank of cigarettes, as he was a chain smoker always with one hanging between his lips; even his finger tips were stained yellow with nicotine.

Terrence gave a little tap on Elliott's door and walked in before she said a word. "That's a bad habit ye have. " Elliott warned, tuning and facing him with a gun in her hand pointed directly at him."could get ye hurt one of these days..."

"And why would ye be wantin' to do that missy...ye'll be causing yerself a wee bit a trouble as Séan wouldn't take kindly ta that I'm sure. Besides... there's somethin' else more pleasant I'd rather be doin' to ye." He stared at her hungrily." Come on now darlin' why don't ye give us a kiss?"

"In yer dreams buck-o" Elliott snarled at him."Now out me room before my finger slips on this here trigger!"

Terence seemed unfazed by Elliott's threat, suddenly remembering why he was there, "Oh...ye are to come straight downstairs to the dining room in a half hour fer the supper and ta meet the big boss." He gave her another frightening smile, then left.

Elliott dropped down to the edge of the bed exhaling a sigh of relief as she returned her weapon to it's holster behind her back. She decided it was time to do some reconnoitering before heading to the dining room, given the excuse that if she were caught...she would say she was only trying to find it, as it was a grand place after all and she being new, was "just lost." Elliott walked cautiously out and down the long flight of stairs leading to the main foyer; her eyes looking in every direction. She suddenly heard voices...Fiona and Terrence, coming her way and ducked down behind a settee that was to the side at the bottom of the stairs, listening in as they passed by.

"So Terry...did ye do her yet?" said Fiona.

"Not yet...but I will." smiled, assuring himself...we'll both be havin' fun messin' with their heads won't we now. I'm guessin' that ye got the brother did ye? he laughed

"Aye" she said...he's a strange one...well the sister did try to warn me, sayin' he was mental and all...would you believe after we did it...he accused me of rapin' him. Can you imagine that? And ye know he has a strange thing with his voice...sometimes he's not soundin' Irish at'all."

"I had a feelin' he was a bit barmy..." Terrence said.

"Not barmy enough that he couldn't screw!" she cackled.

"Don't rub it in Fiona...I've not got me turn at the sister yet!" said Terrence.

"Gone' with ye...ye'll do her soon enough!" Fiona laughed again.

Elliott remained hidden until the voices faded; her stomach a little nauseous at the thought of Terrence laying a hand on her... then she rose from behind the sofa, heading down the nearest hallway. There were multiple side rooms, and she quickly peeked into each one... until she surprisingly hit pay dirt...the last room at the end of the hall way was the lab!

A voice with a slight German accent startled her from behind." Who are you, what are you doing back here?"

Elliott recognized the man immediately; Richard Reuter. Luckily he had never seen her in Marseilles...

"Beggin' yer pardon sir... me name is Nuala Ó Gorman...I was told to come down fer the supper. Is this the way to the dining room?" she said innocently.

"No it is not" snapped the man " Come with me, I will show you the way." obviously annoyed; his German accent became more pronounced.

Reuter lead her across the foyer to the dining room, ordering her to go inside, sit and to stay there! And Elliot complied demurely. Ten minutes later the Illya arrived accompanied by Séan, Fiach, Terrence and Fiona arrived and seated themselves at the table. Illya sat down next to her and she immediately leaned over whispering to him that she had found the laboratory, across the foyer down the end of a hall.

Illya's face remained passive, showing no emotion at all upon hearing the the news. "any luck with our friend?" she whispered again. Illya shook his head no. There was no sign of Napoleon and Waverly still had not contacted him.

A cook began serving the meal, quite sumptuous compared to what they had been eating lately...baked salmon on a bed of greens, with saffron rice. And for dessert a colorfully layered trifle with sponge cake, whipped cream, fruit, custard and sherry. Fiach smiled calling it "Tipsy Pudding"...apparently the cook had been quite generous with the sherry.

They finished their meal and were all lead next door to a sitting room, where they awaited the arrival of the boss; Elliott assumed that it was Reuter and whispered to Illya that she had seen him here already.

Reuter walked into the room followed by another man, and suddenly Elliott ducked behind Illya "Smythe!" she whispered in a hiss.

"I'd like ta introduce ye's to Mr. Reuter and Mr. Smythe...both the bosses, or so it seems" said Séan. " As these here are Fiach, Terrence, my sister Fiona, Séamus and his sister Nuala."

Smythe recognized Elliott instantly, drawing his gun on her..."You fools she was an UNCLE agent! And I think it is safe to assume that you sir," he said eyeing Illya," are Illya Kuryakin, Solo's partner. Search them!" he ordered Terrence.

Terrence quickly removed their weapons and his hands lingered on Elliott, running them across her breasts and beneath her skirt as he searched her, relieving her of all her weapons. She gave Terrence no satisfaction at reacting to his molestations.

Reuter grabbed Séan Óg by the front of his shirt."You idiot! You lead UNCLE agents right to us! If I didn't need you then I'd kill you right here myself!" he shouted at the frightened Irishman.

Illya and Elliott clasped their hands to their head in as they were removed of all their weapons and communicators. "Remove their boots, watches... any personal affects." Smythe said," and check their clothes for any wires... any sort of devises!"

Finally the two agents had been searched thoroughly and Smythe, glaring at Elliott spoke to her." So you little bitch...you never left UNCLE after all did you? Well your plan isn't going to work. Napoleon Solo is out of the picture...as he is locked now in an UNCLE holding cell. I set him up just as I did you Elliott and now they think he's the traitor, not me!" Smythe laughed.

"Oh I'm so frightened Owen...I don't know, yer plan with me wasn't exactly foolproof though was it now?" she smiled, taunting him.

That remark earned her a blow to the face, delivered hard enough by Owen to render her unconscious. Illya tried to move to Elliott but he was pulled back; his arms held tightly behind him by Fiach.

All traces of his Irish accent were now gone. " You will not succeed in this endeavour...UNCLE will find us and shut you down." Illya warned.

"I think not...we have someone else helping us Kuryakin...all information in regards to this operation has been, shall we say...redirected. No one will be coming to your assistance...just as it happened in Marseilles. And I am sure you are aware what happened there Mr. Kuryakin are you not?" Owen bragged confidently.

"And who exactly is that person helping you?" Illya asked outright..

Smythe laughed."You are as naive as your partner...do you think I would tell you that?" Smythe looked to Reuter for a decision at that moment, making same gesture the Thrushman had made earlier, to slit their throats.

"No," said Reuter...I think Central will be very interested in these two. We'll send them out tomorrow with the first shipment of the drug. But I want them softened up a bit...that way they'll be less trouble for the journey. Now take them to the storage rooms downstairs."

Smythe pulled Terrence aside telling the man he had free reign with the agents, with only one caveat..."do not kill them."

Illya and Elliott were handcuffed and each taken to separate rooms. Terrence decided to start with Illya first, cutting away the Russian's shirt with his knife after having strung him up by his wrists, dangling from the ceiling. Just high enough that Illya's bare feet did not touch the cold flagstone floor.

At first he began pricking Illya with the sharp tip of the switchblade, cutting into the skin until there were dozens of trickles of blood running down his pale chest and back."Ye have a lot of scars on ye Russian...how about I add some more to the collection? " Then Terrence stopped for a moment, lighting up a cigarette, then when he was finished smoking it; he snuffed it out in the middle of Illya's chest.

Illya gave him no satisfaction by reacting to the pain...he had felt worse before, though handcuffs were cutting tightly into his wrists making his hands numb as the weight of his own body pulled at them.

Terrence pulled Illya's feet up violently behind him and sliced into the soles, finally eliciting a gasp from the Russian.

"Ah so ye do feel pain then Séamie? Well here's more for ye ta think about...He took the knife beginning to slice it again and again across Kuryakin's chest and his arms until he finally passed out.

Then Terrence threw a bucket of cold water on the man, reviving him, laughing. The water made some of the red color rinse run from Illya's hair, running down his chest and back, mingling with the blood from the knife wounds.

"This is only the beginning ya stinkin' copper ye!" Terrence then slipped his thick leather belt from his trousers, wrapping it around his fist; he began punching Kuryakin.

Illya's face was now bloodied and swollen; his body bruised from Terrence's pummelling. Yet still he stubbornly refused to cry out. And the sadistic Irishman unravelling his blood stained belt, used it across the Russian's back, whipping him until Illya finally let out a single cry before he again passed out.

Terrence lowered Illya to the coldness of the damp floor and left him laying there unconscious in a puddle of water tinged pink with Illya's blood.

Illya awoke sometime later, lightheaded; his body burning and aching from Terrence's ministrations. His thoughts raced to Elliott;as fear suddenly gripped him... that she could be dead. But then he forced himself to remain calm, reminding himself that Terrence had been instructed not to kill them. The thought that his Elliott was possibly being tortured sent chills through his body.

He heard a noise outside the door...it was Terrence returning and Illya watched helplessly as the crazed man pulled Elliott inside the room after him.

"Get in there ye stinkin' little hoor!" he said shoving her in front of him.

Elliott stumbled to the floor with her hands cuffed behind her back. Terrence grabbed her roughly by the hair, dragging her up to her feet.

Illya could see her face was swollen and bloody; she had a black eye and her lower lip was split and there was a dark bruise that had formed where Smythe had stuck her. The front of her blouse had been torn, leaving her breasts exposed.

Terrence saw that Illya was awake.

"Back among us are ye, ya little piss ant?" he smiled. "Worried about yer little bitch here...I know now ye are not brother and sister...soooo is she yer lover maybe? Is she a good fuck? he taunted as he held her up by her hair, groping Elliotts' breasts after ripping open the rest of her blouse.

"Ya know...I think I'll see for meself?" He grabbed her, handling her like she was a rag doll, shoving Elliott's torso down upon a table that was a few feet away from where Illya lay."Come on ye worthless bitch!" Terrence growled at her.

"Leave her alone!" Illya yelled, sweeping out at Terrence with his leg; knocking the man off his feet. Elliott slid off the table, dropping down to the floor barely conscious.

Terrence picked himself up."I'll fix ye, ya little fecker!" and he proceeded to kick the Russian in the side until he was satisfied as Illya doubled up moaning.

He then turned his attention back to Elliott, pulling her up again, laying her bent over forward across the table. He leaned on top of her, slobbering on her face and lips with his tongue. Elliott though half conscious wanted to retch at the smell of the man's rancid breath. Terrence held her down by the neck with one hand as he undid his trousers with the other; letting them drop to his knees then he pulled up her skirt.

"Get off me ye feckin bollocks ya!" Elliott protested weakly.

Terrence ripped off her under garments, then began groping with his fingers. Elliott struggled but couldn't move under the pressure of his hand around her neck and his weight against her small body.

He began shoving his fist up into her; Elliott screaming at the pain, as Terrence was wearing some sort of ring with it's prongs tearing into her delicate flesh. He pulled his now bloody hand away, all the while he had been looking at Kuryakin, smiling at the helpless and tortured look in the Russian's blue eyes as he violated Elliott. Terrence then proceeded to rape her viciously, thrusting himself into her...the more she screamed the more violent his thrusting became. He finished with a grunt, wiping the blood off himself with Elliott's skirt, then he simply let her drop to the floor.

Smiling at Illya's pained look, as he walked toward the door," Not a very good ride, if ye ask me." he said then left, locking the door behind him.

Illya struggled, working his way over painfully across the floor to the still form of Elliott, as every muscle in his body seemed to hurt. He managed to maneuver himself beside her and whispered in her ear.

"Annushka" he spoke to her softly " Elliott wake up...please wake up? Pozhaluista? He tried nudging her head with his, until she moaned just a little.

Illya pushed himself close to her, trying to bring her what comfort he could by lying next to her. There was no sense of time passing until Illya felt Elliott finally begin to move. She was conscious, and wordlessly the two worked themselves up into a sitting position.

"Annushka...I am sorry I could not stop..."

"No."she cut him off sharply" just lay off it...I'll be alright. Illya could hear the anger in her voice, and there was a fire in her eyes that he had not seen before.

Suddenly there were voices outside the door...Terrence had returned. "They're loadin' the shipment now...so I'm gonna soften these two up some more like the boss said. They'll be just right to travel with the shipment in the morning." said Terrence.

"Aye...just remember, they said not to kill 'em." said Fiach.

"Well that's why yer ta keep Fiona away...that crazy womab would end up killen' both...and Séan Óg's in enough trouble as it is with the boss, without his sister causin' more.

"Alright." said Fiach,"I'll keep her out yer way then."

Terrence came into the room, spotting Elliott sitting up beside the Russian. "Ah, ye are awake this time...are ye ready for another bit of fun? I'm gonna ride you like yer little bugger of a boyfriend here never could." he laughed sickly.

He grabbed Elliott again, dragging her up to the table and again Illya, kicked out catching Terrence behind the knee and knocking him off balance. He turned to Illya, smashing angrily with his fist into his face, sending the Russian's head down to the floor with a loud thud.

Elliott still lay across the table as Terrence returned his attention to her, pulling up her skirt again for another assault.

Illya was in a fog, he couldn't see as his head was spinning and blood had run down into his eyes but he heard Terrence's grunts as the man began to rape Elliott again and could do nothing to stop him.

This time Elliott was ready. She knew his body movements now...the steps to his "dance" and she waited painfully for him to lean forward on her as she hoped he would. And as he started to do just that, Elliott suddenly arched her back snapping her head violently into Terrence's face, breaking his nose with a loud "crack."

Terrence howled in pain, staggering backwards, far enough for Elliott to flip herself over on the table and using it for support, she kicked up with her legs wrapping them around the man's neck; flipping herself and the stunned man over and onto the floor. She landed with her legs beside his head and quickly raised one of them bringing her foot down across Terrence's throat, crushing it and killing him instantly.

She struggled to her knees, then retrieved a set of keys hanging from Terrence's belt; finding the one for the cuffs, she freed herself. She then stood up, giving the body of Terrence Finnerty a kick as she spat on him. "Sruthán in ifreann thú...muice bracach dhuit!_burn in hell ya filthy pig ye!" she swore at him in Irish, then she relieved him of his gun and switchblade.

She undid Illya's handcuffs speaking softly as she wiped the blood away from his eyes with her skirt. "Illuysha" she whispered running her fingers through his matted, half blond hair.

"It's alright, Terrence is dead. We need to get out of here!" She was shaking now after the adrenaline rush from her struggle with Terrence and was beginning to make her feel light headed.

"Come on my love" she whispered as she helped him to his feet feet, until he regained his balance, then she tied the remains of her blouse to cover herself.

Illya was able to walk with some difficulty as Terrence had sliced into his feet with the knife. Suddenly Elliott herself staggered and he grabbed her and together they steadied each other as they made their way out and up the stairs. Illya knew she was bleeding heavily as he saw it running down her legs after the assaults from Terrence.

"They are loading the shipment now. We've got to ta find a way to stop it Illya." she spoke softly"...even if it means the death of us."

Illya nodded silently. There would be no one coming to help them and he resigned himself to the fate that Elliott had just pronounced for them. At least he would die with the woman he loved," he told himself.

He stopped for a moment, grasping her face in his hands..."Annushka, no matter what happens...I love you." he whispered to her. "And I love you Illya Nickovich, with all my heart..." she smiled at him weakly.

They kissed, then the two agents made their way up the stairs to the main floor of the castle. Elliott opened the door carefully peeking out, seeing but one guard by the front door with his back to them.

Illya took Terrence's switchblade from Elliott then taking one step out from the door, he threw the knife; killing the guard without a sound. Then they dragged the body in through to the landing, closing the door to hide it and Illya grabbing the guards rifle.

Elliott looked quickly out the front window and saw a white van being loaded with crates as it was parked on the round about near the fountain...it looked as though truck was nearly full. It was now late into the night and the two hoped that mostly everyone would be asleep in their beds..

"The lab is that way," she whispered, pointing to a corridor across to the far side of the foyer. The two agents moved painfully, heading to it, Elliott leading the way. When they reached the end of the hall, they heard voices coming from the lab...

"Get that copy of the formula ready. The boss wants it to go to Central with the shipment tomorrow, along with the two prisoners."

"This is getting scary...I mean two stinking UNCLE agents? I heard that's what happened in Marseilles too."

"Yeah and I heard that guy Smythe has it all taken care of...just like he did in Marseilles... with the help some big Thrush boss!" the man laughed.

"Alright...the formula and samples are ready to go. They'll stay in this briefcase for the trip." the man said closing and locking a brown leather case.

"I do not think so gentlemen." said the Russian as he stepped into the lab." pointing the rifle at them," Now if you please, I will take that briefcase?"

The the two men froze at the sight of the bloody and bruised Russian, raising their hands above their heads without argument. Illya ripped several electrical cords from the wall, then knocking both men unconscious with the butt of the rifle; Elliott bound their hands and feet with the wires, and used their own neck ties as gags.

She stopped for a minute suddenly feeling frightened as she spotted their weapons and the plastic explosive that had been hidden in the heel of Illya's boot. It was eerily similar to how things happened in Marseilles

"Are you alright?" Illya asked her, taking hold of her arm as she seemed unsteady.

"I'll be fine...just a little feeling of deja vu that's all." she pulled her arm free."There were bottles of cognac in the sitting room next door...it worked for me in Marseilles, using them as Molotov cocktails and the explosive compound to blow up the lorry...so I think we can do the same again."

Illya smiled at her ingenuity."Wait here, I will get them." he said, hobbling out the door. Kuryakin reappeared in a few minutes with three bottles and a box of matches. Then Elliott tore strips from her skirt, soaking them in the cognac and stuffing them into the necks of the bottle just as she had done in Marseilles. Then Illya affixed the plastic explosive to two of the three bottles. And now they were as ready as they could be.

They stopped, holding each other for a brief moment. "Let's do this thing!" Elliott said. And then they headed out back across the foyer carrying the briefcase with them, outside to the front of the building.

Illya held the first two Molotov's as Elliott lit them, then tossed them at the van; the bottles smashing and the alcohol igniting like a burning river across the top of it, the other Molotov towards the rear just beneath it. Then seconds later there was a great explosion followed by a second sending the fiery debris flying through the air as the van burst into flames.

The explosions brought guards down on them from every possible direction, and the two agents engaged them in a gun battle as they found themselves pinned down in a cross fire.

"Not bloody well again!" They heard a voice scream out from behind them. Owen Smythe stood pointing his UNCLE special at Illya and Elliott.

"You little fucking bitch!" he cursed at Elliott." you nearly ruined Marseilles, I'll not have you do it to me again! I should have killed you back then!" Smythe pointed the gun directly at her and just as he fired, Kuryakin dove in front of Elliott taking the bullet intended for her, and falling to the ground at her feet.

"No!"she screamed instantly lighting the last Molotov; she hurled it at Owen Smythe's feet, setting the man ablaze. He ran, screaming in pain as the flames shot up his body, throwing himself in the fountain.

Suddenly Elliott felt a searing pain in the back and she collapsed, wounded by a Thrush bullet. She reached out grabbing her unconscious Russian's hand...the last thing she thought she heard was the muffled sound of UNCLE weapons being fired.


	13. Chapter 13

Napoleon sat with the head of London medical, Dr. Raj Singh; finally having slowed down enough to relax for a moment. It was only fourteen hours ago that he had been locked in a holding cell accused of being a traitor to the organization he had dedicated himself to, was freed and then headed off to Ireland; in search of partner and Elliott Mc Gowan; his instincts telling him that they were in trouble.

Solo, April Dancer and Mark Slate along with a half-dozen loaner agents from INTERPOL literally arrived just like the proverbial cavalry in the nick of time. Saving the two agents, recovering the formula and samples of the Mind Control drug, then dismantling the lab. They took custody of the T.H.R.U.S.H agent, Richard Reuter and what was left of his minions. INTERPOL got Séan Ó Dúinn, his sister Fiona and Fiach O'Dowd. But there was no sign of Owen Smythe anywhere...

Alexander Waverly had contacted agents Dancer and Slate informing them of Solo's apparent disappearance, and upon their return to London headquarters from Istanbul; they discovered that Napoleon was in custody and being accused by an agent named Owen Smythe of being a traitor.

April then contacted Waverly informing him of Solo's predicament. "Sir, Harry Beldon has poor Napoleon locked up in a holding cell and tells me that he's a traitor...that another UNCLE agent named Smythe has accused him. Mr. Waverly...they have recordings, when I heard them I couldn't believe it. Not Napoleon Solo, it's just not possible sir!"

"Waverly's reaction was simply one word..."preposterous!" Then he had Harry Beldon called; reaming into the head of the London office for not consulting him before he had taken action against Solo.

Harry Beldon released Napoleon with deepest apologies about the entire episode, as Smythe had him completely convinced of Solo's guilt. Harry offered his assistance in aiding with the operation, which now included finding the real traitor Owen Smythe as his where abouts were now unknown.

Napoleon politely declined the offer; deciding instead to bring April and Mark in on the assignment, along with support from Elliott's friends from INTERPOL; keeping Beldon in the dark about the entire affair. Waverly gave them Kuryakin and MGowan's last known location, which was Belfast Castle and they boarded two helicopters heading across the Irish Sea to Ireland.

"How are they doing Dr. Singh?" Solo asked as they walked along the corridor in medical.

"They will recover...Mr. Kuryakin has just been brought to his room from recovery. He was lucky that the gunshot to his abdomen did not hit anything vital. He lost quite a bit of blood though as had obviously been tortured...so he required a lot of stitches. He will have little difficulty walking until the soles of his feet heal."

"And Miss McGowan?"

"She is doing well...I'm afraid she lost the baby though."

"Baby? She was pregnant? said Napoleon, completely taken off guard.

"Yes...just about two months. She suffered violent sexual abuse, having been raped and mutilated...that combined with the bullet wound to her side caused the fetus to abort. Like Mr. Kuryakin, she was lucky nothing vital was hit.

"Thank you Dr." Napoleon left heading to his partner's room down the hall to wait for him to wake up. He sat in a chair at Illya's bedside, wondering what he should or should not say to his friend, until finally Russian's eyes fluttered open.

"Hi there." he whispered.

"Hmmm." Illya moaned softly.

"How you feeling tovarisch?"

"Headache," came the reply "What is the damage...this time?"

"Gunshot wound to the belly. You're pretty sliced, diced and bruised..." Napoleon answered, helping support his partner as he tried to sit up, tucking an extra pillow behind his back.

"Elliott?"

"Is recovering..."

Illya paused sighing in relief then gathered his thoughts and Solo knew from his partner's expression that he wanted to say something important.

"Napoleon...she was raped." he said with a coldness in his voice." You have to have that removed from her medical records. I know you as a CEA possess the means to make that happen... unchanged, it could jeopardize her career. It is just one of the many arguments used against having women working in the field...she does not deserve that as reward for a job well done."

"I agree with you a hundred percent tovarisch. I'll do what I can you have my word on it...listen" Napoleon hesitated," the doctor said that she... he said Elliott was pregnant Illya. The abuse she went through caused her to miscarry...did you know she was well...?"

Illya's eyes glazed over. "No I did not...how far along was she...do you know?"

"Doctor Singh said just about two months."

The Russian shut down then, suddenly closing his eyes and turning his face away from his partner. Solo knew that it was time to back off and leave Illya be for the moment.

He returned to Dr. Singh, asking him to omit the rape as well as the miscarriage from Elliott's records. Dr. Singh, though a man of ethics knew the ramifications of what had happened to the female agent...and after Solo's strong urging, agreed to clear his medical report of all incriminating information.

Seeing that Elliott was awake as he passed her room; Napoleon stopped in to visit her.

"Hello Ellie" he smiled at her, then reaching out, touching the back of his hand to her cheek.

"Hi...so I heard ye made it to the rescue after all...thank you Sir Galahad!" she smiled weakly." Illya was pretty worried about you."

Solo chuckled. "I suppose you could call it that...a rescue that is, but Galahad?" he smiled" I don't think so. I was pretty worried about the two of you as well you know. It's a bit of a long story, but April and Mark had a hand in the operation...and your buddies from INTERPOL of course...remind me to send them some champagne?"

"Illya?"

"Is awake and doing well..."

Elliott smiled, sighing but then her demeanor changed; becoming very somber.

"Did you get him...Smythe?"

"No...sorry. I'm afraid he wasn't there."

"He was Napoleon...he was. I threw a Molotov at him and he was burned...the last I saw of him, he had thrown himself into the fountain as he was still on fire! Feck!...Feck, FECK!" she cursed."The bastard got away! I can't believe it!"she said slamming her fists down on the mattress. Elliott was working herself into a frenzy.

"Stop it...STOP IT! Elliott" Napoleon raised his voice to her." It's not worth getting yourself upset about it...we'll get him eventually."

The nurse came into the room, hearing the commotion, giving Elliott an injection to calm her.  
"Please Mr. Solo...Miss Mc Gowan needs to remain calm?"

He bowed his apologies then headed off, back to his partner's room. Sitting with Illya until he finally woke up. Solo dozing off leaning on his hand; his elbow resting on the arm of the chair.

"Napoleon?"

"Yeah...huh? You alright buddy? What do you need?" Solo answered, rousing himself.

"Can you take me to see Elliott?"

Solo rubbed his face trying to invigorate himself. "Yeah, sure ...I think I can arrange that." He got up disappearing from the room for a few minutes, then reappeared pushing a wheel chair in front of him. He helped the Russian get into it, maneuvering him carefully to protect the dozens of stitches that covered Illya's body. He put a blanket over Illya's lap covering his bandaged feet, then wheeled him down the hall past the nurses station toward Elliott's room.

"Excuse me? "demanded the nurse," Where do you think you two are going? Mr. Kuryakin has to remain in bed. You take him right back there or I will have you removed by Security Mr. Solo!"

"Listen Nurse "Ratched"...Mr. Kuryakin very much needs to speak to Miss Mc Gowan...he'll only be a few minutes, I promise you. Then I'll bring him right back to his room." he flashed one of his charming smiles at here" Then I'll stop back to see you...and maybe we can talk about going out for a nice dinner this evening?"

The nurse captivated by Napoleon's smile and good looks completely missed the literary reference that he used to insult her...

"Alright...Mr. Solo. As long as you keep your promises."she smiled at him.

Solo wheeled his partner alongside Elliott's bed, then left the two of them alone.

Illya reached over slipping Elliott's hand into his. She woke, turning her head and their eyes met.

"I was afraid I lost you,"she whispered.

"Apparently not...I am not gotten rid of that easily" he smiled shyly.

"Annushka..." he held her hand to his face as a single tear ran down his cheek. "The baby...why did you not tell me?"

"Jay-sus...Illya, please don't be upset with me? I didn't know I was...pregnant. My cycles are always irregular. The UNCLE doctors always told me it was because I worked out so hard all the time...so I didn't think anything of it when I didn't get my period."

"I am not upset with you...I am just sad, that is all."

"Ye mean ye didn't mind when ye heard I had been pregnant?"

"At first I was confused, then when I thought about it...no I did not mind it. I was very saddened about the the loss of... our child," he admitted to her. " Elliott, I love you so much that it hurts." he slipped forward on the wheelchair, laying his head on the bed and began to sob quietly. Elliott reached out, stroking his long blond hair tenderly.

Napoleon stood back by the door watching, he had never seen his partner cry before...

Illya was released from medical ten days later. Elliott another five days after that. They returned to New York via commercial airline and were scheduled for light duty in headquarters. They filed their reports with Alexander Waverly, then spent their time at headquarters trying to avoid each other's company for fear of being discovered.

The doctors had cautioned Elliott against having sexual relations for at least another month, in spite of that, Illya spent the night with her as often as assignments permitted...sleeping with her but remaining celibate until she was fully healed.

Kuryakin and Solo were called into Waverly's conference room ninety days after the successful raid in Belfast.

"Gentlemen. I have asked you here for an evaluation. The other continental chiefs have questioned my over-ride of Harry Beldon's decisions regarding Miss McGowan's disposition within UNCLE and though the results of the "Mind Control Affair" speak for themselves; they are still asking for the opinions of the agents assigned to work with her."

"Mr. Solo if you would please so good to give me your evaluation of Miss Mc Gowan, as you are senior agent?"

Solo gave his partner a quick glance before he spoke...

"Miss Mc Gowan is a very capable agent, Napoleon spoke," She has a good head on her shoulders now instead of the chip she arrived with...initially she seemed to feel that she had prove something. But that has changed and I think she as settled in nicely to the section and is a definite asset in the field to this organization."

"And you Mr. Kuryakin...you have worked more closely with the woman. What have you to add?"

"Miss Mc Gowan is quite professional sir...innovative, thinks fast on her feet and is quite fearless. She trusts her instincts and makes appropriate judgements not based on just that, but her knowledge of the situation as well. She has a bit of a temper, but has seems to have gotten that under control.

"Anything you wish to add Mr. Solo?" asked Waverly.

"I agree with Mr. Kuryakin...she definitely has a temper, though she does seem to be keeping it in check...I think if she were to lose control of it...that could make her a very dangerous woman. I believe she is very capable of killing in anger... but I have seen her definitely developing a strong level of control that keeps her from skirting over the edge."

"As many agents do," Illya added.

"She is most assuredly, one tough cookie sir...and that is what allows her to make it in a man's world."Solo smiled, winking discreetly at his partner.

"Mr. Kuryakin..." probed Waverly," is there nothing else you are sure you would not like to add?"

"No sir," he answered,"not at this time." Illya suddenly felt has though the man was questioning him, instead of about Elliott.

Waverly eyed the Russian warily for a moment. "Thank you for your candor gentlemen. Based on your assessment I will be recommending that Miss McGowan be based permanently out of New York and I will be considering assigning her a new partner."

"Anyone that you would care to recommend? Mr. Solo."

Illya buried his nose in a file. "No one that I can think of ?" Napoleon said with a smile.

Two months later Illya and Elliott lay on a blanket in Central park and had just finished a picnic lunch together. They stared up at the bright blue sky, looking at the clouds. Illya had his head resting in Elliott's lap...

"That one looks like a sailboat," she laughed pointing upwards."

"Elliott, I am sorry I just do not see it...that is simply a fair weather cumulus cloud to me...I am sorry I lack the imagination to see such things" he smiled.

"Ye know...for a man as clever as ye, I am surprised that ye say that!"

"Elliott where I was raised in the Soviet Union, there was no room for such frivolous thoughts. It was a matter of survival to keep one's head level." he answered so seriously.

"Now wait minute...didn't ye tell me that ye fantasized about me in that bloody French Maid costume... fantasizing as I recall requires a bit of imagination doesn't it now?" she laughed.

"Elliott, I assure you that seeing pictures in a cloud and a man thinking about sex are two very different things! He suddenly rolled over pinning her down staring into her eyes he lowered his lips to hers. It was a deep and lingering kiss that made Elliott tingle.

The two had just begun having sexual relations again, and the Russian was now at Elliott's apartment every day and night that he was not out on assignment. For the first time in his adult life, Illya Kuryakin was genuinely happy.

The two still kept their relationship a secret and except for Napoleon, no one knew. And now Illya had decided it was time to ask her an important question.

"Elliott..." he whispered to her.

She clicked her tongue. "Do ye know that whenever ye call me Elliott..ye have something serious on yer mind...and ye have been calling me that all afternoon."

"Illya shrugged..."I was unaware of that. But you are right...I do have something important to discuss with you."

Elliott rolled over onto her stomach leaning on her elbows giving the Russian her full attention."Alright go ahead then." she smiled at him.

"Elliott...err, Annushka." It was obvious to Elliott that he was very nervous.

"I was wondering since we are together most of the time anyway, would you..."he hesitated fumbling over his words, seemingly tongue tied.

"Well spit it out man! It's not like I'm goin' to kill ya? Elliott laughed.

"Alright...just give me a second? Illya composed himself, then finally spoke. Elliott could hear the nervousness in his voice increase. "Annushka, would you consider moving in together?"

Elliott laughed out loud and Illya suddenly thought that she was laughing at him. He cursed himself for misjudging and suddenly became fearful that this would drive a wedge between them.

"I am sorry Annushka, you do no wish to I assume, that is is alright then," he said with disappointment in his voice,"but I am speaking seriously and I do not think my feelings should be the brunt of laughter."

"No Illya." she stuttered " No... I don't mean no...I mean yes. YES! I would love for us to live together," she reached out running her fingers through his hair, " Do ye think we can get away with it though?"

There was always talk and gossip about who was sleeping with whom at headquarters. There were certain rules that UNCLE had, but when in came to interpersonal relationships, if they had to happen; then they were encouraged to be kept "in house." Thinking that an UNCLE employee would be more understanding to the lifestyle and risks of an agent...and would also be less of a security risks than would be a civilian.

Marriage was frowned upon, but not forbidden. Not that Illya wanted to get married...he would not entertain the thought of leaving Elliott his widow. The thought of moving in with her was enough. But there was no precedent for this...two agents, a man and a woman moving in together. The two of them were treading on very unfamiliar and shaky ground.

He smiled, pulling her into his arms again and kissed her playfully.

"Why not, we are spies are we not and are accustomed to living a clandestine life?"

"And when would ye like to start this secret clandestine operation?"she teased him.

This time Illya pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately and she returned his embrace with equal enthusiasm.

"I think we should be doing it sooner than later," he smiled " I find the thought of living with you most arousing...maybe you could wear that French maid outfit for me? he practically purred, raising his eyebrows to her.

"Oh my God! Ye randy Russian ye!" she said feigning annoyance."Such filthy talk from the likes of ye!" Then she giggled like a school girl. "So now, what's it goin' ta be, your place or mine?" she asked, trying to get him to refocus and raise his mind up from where it obviously was at the moment.

"Would you mind if you move to my apartment?" he asked," It is slightly larger and closer to headquarters."

"And Napoleon? We'll have to tell him ye know." she warned, knowing that Solo lived two floors above Illya in the same apartment building.

"Yes, that is true...so it is decided then, my place?"

"Yes Illuysha...your place. Now seriously, when do ye want to do this?"

"As soon as we can. I should tell him of our decision as I do not think he would appreciate being left in the dark on this?"

"You do realize that when I vacate my place...UNCLE will know. And they will want ta know where I've gone...they have this funny little habit of keepin' track of their agents that way?"

"I had not really thought about that." he said soberly," It could present a problem."

"So does that mean yer changin' yer mind then?"

"Not a chance," he said rolling over onto his back, looking up at he clouds, suddenly pointing towards a cloud that was drifting by."that one I think...looks like a heart."

Elliott looked up and laughed," Nice try but I don't think so...though it's a start. Maybe there is hope for ye?"

Suddenly their musings were interrupted by the chirp of Illya's communicator. "Kuryakin here." he answered.

"Yes Mr. Kuryakin I need you to pack for an extended trip immediately," said Alexander Waverly." oh and pack for a warmer climate, as you'll be heading to Australia. I will expect you in headquarters for a briefing in a half hour." Waverly out.

Illya closed the communicator and looked to Elliott, she could see that his mind was racing already focusing on leaving for a mission, yet torn at leaving her so abruptly.

"Go...ye don't want to be late do ye? Go on, I'll be fine!"

He gave her a quick kiss on the lips then took off, leaving her there sitting alone on the blanket in Central Park. He headed straight to Elliott's apartment to pick up some of his clothes...jeans t-shirts, sneakers. While there he realized he had forgotten to tell Elliott that he loved her before he left.

Illya picked up a piece of paper with an envelope from the dining table and he sat for a moment, composing a short note to her, then sealing it; he tucked it under her jewel case in the bedroom as a surprise. Then he disappeared, off to headquarters to be briefed on his assignment.


End file.
